Sailing into the Shadows: Book Two
by KeshaRocks
Summary: Betrayed by his father and forced to flee, Roxas Skyes must now travel to a new home of assassins called the Faceless. But little does he know of the dark secrets that loom within the shadows of these assassins. Old secrets come back to life, and love begins to form and splinter. And soon, all secrets will lead to a shocking discovery that could change the hearts of those he loves.
1. Prologue

The ground races by beneath Roxas' pounding feet, the chilled autumn air stinging his lungs. As he runs, Roxas feels his body enter that uncomfortable place of being warm on the inside but cold with sweat on the outside. He knew he'd pay later for not having warmed up or anything before launching straight into a full-out run.

He tries to imagine Axel still holding down the fort, doing whatever he could to direct attention away from his unusually quiet tent, which Demyx, by now, would have started to wonder about. And if he hadn't, well, he would when they packed up and left for the next town and Roxas wasn't there.

Roxas swings around a thin tree and slows, however, as a new thought enters his mind. He stops and stares down the road where, just ahead, he can see the side entrances to the park.

He hesitates, taking a moment to breathe, to debate. He pulls the straps of his sheath of arrows forward, bringing the quiver flush with his back, and he feels the weight of his bow bottle as it presses into his spine.

Even though the forest is huge, with patches split by lots of twisty, turny roads and steep rolling hills, it would be a lot faster to cut through.

Roxas glances skyward. Through the smattering of clouds, three early night stars shine in the deepening blue, but it isn't completely dark yet. If he goes through the park, if he runs the whole way and manages not to get lost, he'd make it in time for sure. He knew it.

His mind made up, he darts for the park entrance.

On either side of him loom tall trees. They seem to watch him as he veers past, taking the one-way dirt road that curves upward into the park. His path soon narrows to a single, twisting lane of grime. Rows of trees and thick underbrush emerge on either side of him. The farther into the park he runs, the denser the surrounding forest grows.

Overhead, the interlocking patchwork of hanging boughs work to transform his pathway into a darkening tunnel. Through the lacework of limbs, thick clouds inch by.

Roxas runs on, listening to the soft beat of his boots as they pound the ground. He can't wait to get back to the campsite and into a bath in the pond. He thinks about making himself some peppermint tea and maybe even going to bed early, even though he can't say it was because he is looking forward to tomorrow.

Darkness creeps in around him, spreading its fingers through the trees, working to smear them into a single black blur.

As he approaches a fork in the road, he slows, but only long enough to decide that he should keep going straight.

He keeps running, his breath the loudest sound in his ears. The only sound.

Roxas frowns, at last admitting to himself that something had felt funny since he entered the forest. Only now, however, can he place his finger on what.

He slows his run to a jog, listening to the lonely, hollow clap of his boots.

Quiet.

Everything around him stands really still and really . . . quiet.

The breeze that greeted him outside the entrance has vanished somewhere between there and here, and he looks up now to find the tree limbs motionless, their leaves immobile.

Or are those leaves t all?

A black shadow moves in one of the trees, and Roxas registers the silhouette of one huge black bird. It makes no sound, though it seems to watch him from its perch. One of the leaves at its side moves. Another bird. Soon, with a ruffle of feathers, he notices another and, on his other side, another.

One of them breaks the silence with a caw, the sound falling harsh on Harry's ears, rasping and raw.

Spooked, Roxas picks up the pace again, glad that he's kept himself in such great shape. True, he isn't the world's best runner, but he can keep going if he needs to, and right now, he needs to.

He wonders, an ice-water sensation rushing through his veins with the thoughts, if something's following him.

Roxas shakes off the convulsive shudder that rattles its way through his shoulders. Stupid idea. If anything was following, it was _someone_. Thieves. Bandits.

Maybe the stillness is just his imagination. After all, this is the woods. Woods are supposed to be placid. Serene. Maybe he just misses the sounds of laughing men and people and the glare of candlelight. Besides, everything dies in the fall anyway, right? All the little crickets have chirped their last sometime back in early September.

Still, he can't help feeling that there should be some sounds. Like a foraging squirrel. A startled rabbit or _something_.

Roxas slows to a stop again, this time so he can catch his breath. He leans forward, clasping his knees, his own huffing all but reverberating in the silence. He glances over his shoulder at the darkening stretch of road behind him, black like a ribbon of ink. He looks forward once more. He wasn't sure, but he thinks the exit to the narrow path lay straight ahead from where he stand right now. If he is right, he'd enter a clearing behind the campsite and be back maybe even with a few seconds to spare.

But something else feels wrong now, and it isn't just the stillness.

Since he has stopped running, the air around him has seemed to compress, to grow denser. He can't explain it, but it feels as though the night itself, unnatural in its calmness, has begun to move in on him, to close in tight.

His nerves prickle. Along his neck and arms, all hairs rise to stand on end.

The idea that you can feel like you are being watched had always sort of struck Roxas as being corny kind of way. Now, though, as he turns and looks around at all the black trees with their skeletal arms tangled in a silent fight for space, he can't help the sudden feeling that, somewhere among them, something watches him, waits for him to move again.

The birds are gone now. Which is weird, since he hadn't heard them take off.

He listens.

Nothing the silence grows, feeding on itself until it becomes a dull roar in his ears.

Roxas continues on the road, though at a slower, quieter walk, and just when he starts to think that listening to the eerie nothing might be worse than actually hearing something, a hushing sound – a fast whoosh – breaks through from the line of trees at his right. Roxas jumps and readies his gun, an ice pick of hear stabbing him through the middle so that, for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

Whatever it was had been big. As in person big.

"Who's there?"

_Skoooshh_!

Roxas whirls. This sound had come from the trees directly across the road. It comes again from behind. Roxas hears the pop of a branch and the crush of dry leaves. He spins in a circle, and despite the cascade of sudden noise, the rustling and crackling, he can't sense so much as the slightest movement in any direction.

Roxas feels his throat constrict and his chest tighten. His heartbeat speeds to triple time. He turns and breaks once more into a run, taking the road as hard and as fast as his legs would carry him. His palms, cold and sweaty, tighten around the grip of his gun, and he feels his quiver of arrows pound against him.

Whatever it was in the woods, it follows him. Out of the corner of one eye, he thinks he sees the edge of a dark something. Then there's another at his left. Figures, tall and long, rush through the black gate of trees on either side of him, their movements too fast. Impossibly fast.

As he speeds up, so do the dappled forms.

They seem to multiply as, out of his periphery, he spots yet another. This one glides away from the others to rush along the group of trees directly beside him. It moves _through_ the trees, through undergrowth, dashing over the dry ground – a rippling form. Roxas risks a quick glance, head-on, but sees nothing, only blackness and tangled branches and stillness. But that was impossible!

"Go away!" Roxas screams. He can't outrun them, or whatever or whoever they were. He can't gain even the slightest bit of distance, and already a stitch the size of a softball has begun to knot itself in his side. He blocks out the pain, pushing through. Run. Run. Run!

"_Run_!" he hears someone hiss. A woman.

It had come the line of trees beside him.

Roxas tries to cry for help but can't find the breath, able to only choke out a low sob. He can't stop to scream, but he can't keep going like this, either. He can't breathe anymore. His lungs sting from the cold while his sides ache with stiffening pain.

Why hadn't he just gone with someone? Why hadn't he just –

_The clearing_!

Straight ahead. There! He can see it.

Dizziness wafts in around his temples, but he wouldn't stop now. Somehow, he knew that if he could just clear the gate, he would make it back. He'd be all right.

Reaching for a thick uprooted root of a tree, Roxas clasps a hand to the wood and, as he vaults over, feels the stabbing reward of a thick splinter as it enters his palm. His feet hit the dust and dirt pathway beyond. He teeters forward from the weight of his sheath and slams to his knees. He picks himself up again, stumbling, scrambling, running even as his body begs him to stop.

The small pebbles at his feet rattle around him. Whispers and hisses. Someone laughs, but the sound morphs into a high-pitched shriek. He hears a splintering shatter, like a crash of plates.

He dares not turn around.

To Roxas' left and right familiar gatherings of trees zoom by, looking like interlocked hands trapping him. He tears past them, and even as the campsite draws into view, he does not slow. He wills his body to keep moving in spite of his screaming muscles, the torturous ache in his lungs.

"_Roxassss_."

The sound of his name whisks by him, caught by the wind and then lost in the rush of leaves scattering around his feet. He hears it, though. His name. Someone has whispered his name.

That, at last, stops him and brings him stuttering to a halt at the edge of the campground threshold. He wheels around, eyes scanning. He gasps for breath, sucking down air in huge gulps.

He peels off his bow and arrows and, mustering every bit of strength h has left, throws it onto the ground. It makes a dull thud sound as the water bottle within slams into the hold, hard turf.

Whoever it was had said his name. That meant they knew him.

As though triggered by the flip of a switch, rage replaces his fear.

"Who's there?" he shouts, heaving. "Who is it? Why don't you just come out?"

He wiped his running nose with his sleeve, not caring.

"Demyx?" he roared toward the gathering of oak trees. "Xigbar? I know you're there!" This he turns on a row of shrubs lining a cobblestone sidewalk.

"Axel, if that's you, this isn't funny, I swear to God it's not! Wherever you are - _whoever_ you are - !" As he shouted, Roxas spins in a circle so that his voice could echo all through the neighborhood. So everyone, everything could hear him.

Roxas turns and sees the silhouette of another boy. He could tell about his age, maybe younger. Still with rage coursing, he turns and huffs to the boy, but he is grateful to find something familiar. He stands at profile, short blonde hair and a brown jacket about his shoulders. At first Roxas thinks he's looking at his own reflection.

Suddenly he slowly turns his head to face Roxas. His skin porcelain white, deep blood-red lips. Roxas' mouth goes dry as paper, and his stomach plummeted to the floor. The eyes depict innocence and a warm kindness that's so familiar.

Ventus.

The boy raises a thin, abnormally long hand, the tips of which ended in long red talonlike claws. He waves at Roxas. His nails, more like the scarlet fangs from some deadly venomous snake, gleams in the light.

Roxas freezes, his eyes locking on a jagged black hole that marked Ventus' cheek, as though an entire chunk of his face had been knocked out, like a chink in a porcelain vase.

Roxas can see straight through, to the hollow jaw and two rows of red daggerlike teeth within. Fear pulsed through his veins and yet stood hypnotized. Ventus is horrible and fascinating all at once, like a scorpion prepared to strike, all angles and sharp lines and menace.

In one blinking movement, the Ventus lunges at him, jaw unhinging, the black hole in his face widening. Teeth bared, claws outstretched, he unleashes an ungodly sound, something between a woman's death screech and a demon's howl.

It happened too fast for Roxas to form his own scream, too fast for his raised arms to do any good. Her claws rained down. Ventus' form loosened into violet smoke.

Roxas coughs and the ground beneath his feet trembles, then shudders before opening up. Darkness swirls inside it like an in ground whirlpool. Roxas falls backward. A shrieking torrent of jet scales engulf the light.

"_You didn't protect me_!"

The edges of his surroundings quiver, dirt and rock loosening until, at last, they break forth in a tidal surge.

Slowly he sinks into the ground like in quicksand. Earth pours over him in rushing waves from all sides. It fall against his body in heavy clods, a suffocating weight that fast becomes crushing.

"No!" Roxas screams in a rustic tone.

He flails and thrashes, battling to loosen himself from the raining soil and ash that threatens to consume him. He fights to stand, causing the dirt to press more tightly around him. It claims his legs, trapping him. He reaches with both arms toward the open sky, but the earth gushes, building to his waist to his chest. It piles past his shoulder, his head, and now reaches to consume his arms, swallowing the light one fragment at a time.

The packed dirt squeezes his chest, crushes his lungs. He can't breathe. Roxas gasps involuntarily and is rewarded with a mouthful of course grime. He swallows and his body convulses at the acrid taste. His lungs burn for air. His heart knocks against his ribcage, begging for release.

His ears roar, and a strange hum grows louder within his brain as his chest convulses and he coughs, sucking in a mouthful of dirt in exchange.

The grit burns his lungs, and he coughs again.

More dirt. More coughing. More pain.

And then it's gone. The pain recedes. His chest relaxes.

His lungs stop demanding air.


	2. Chapter 1

Roxas sharply gasps for breath, a scream fighting to escape his lips. His body moist with sweat.

A dull ache creeps up from his spine to settle in his chest. He was dreaming about something. Though as he tries to remember, only small bits buoy to the surface, like the remnants of a shipwreck, bit by bits float to the top.

He rolls over, squeezing his eyes shut, stuffing his face into his pillow. He wasn't ready to remember what had happened, to recall the nightmare.

The faint pins-and-needles sensation, still there, buzzed through him like a soft vibration, though the closer he drifted to full consciousness, the faster it seemed to fade. An unfamiliar tingling prickles along his limbs, like the faint buzz of static electricity.

He opens his eyes again and gazes straight ahead, afraid that his head is light and he will convulse. He swallows to fight the wave of nausea away. As he blinks, he lifts his head and carefully turns from side to side. His head seems fine, and it's then he takes in his surroundings.

His entire surrounding is bathed in a soft mauve color and Roxas keeps his gaze to the side and drifts it upward to a vaulted roof, the light of the moon muffled by the fabric curving inwards. And then he remembers he's inside a tent. All at once his senses revive and Roxas is suddenly aware of the hard-packed earth beneath his back, a rapidly throbbing pain in the middle of Roxas' spine and the softness of his bedroll he's cocooned in. Roxas pushes himself to sitting position and looks around.

The moonlight makes the tent fabric glow softly and Roxas can see the black skeletal silhouettes of the bare trees that surround the tree in an almost constant observant over him. beyond the flap of the tent, Roxas can see the faint glow of the camp's fire as well as the brownish apparitions of the other tents that circle the campsite, some of their flaps propped open by old tree branches, a warm buttery glow emanating from within themselves.

About two months ago, there was a huge blowout in Roxas hometown of Twilight Town. His father, Cloud Skyes, who is the ruthless leader of all the Thieves Guilds in the town, was planning a form of takeover of the King and his guards, and Roxas was to be the new heir and ruler of the kingdom. But all his plans changed when Roxas met Axel. Originally, Axel was the carefree captain of his own crew, and they mistakenly captured Roxas while raiding his town. Throughout their travels together, Roxas had grown to tolerate the crew, and through their free spirits and compassion, he was able to open his eyes and see his father and his doings as the true evil they are. Roxas had grown particularly fond of a boy of his age and uncanny physical likeness, by the name of Ventus as well as meet up with his old friend Vanitas. But their journeys was faced with troubles as his father had gone to desperate measures – sending out men to retrieve him and putting out wanted posters for Roxas arrest – to try and get him back home. Upon their arrival, the men were taken prisoners, sent to be executed. Roxas was ordered to murder Ventus. Liberated by the rebellious nature burning within, and realizing his feelings for the Captain Axel, Roxas stopped the execution. But the outbreak caused the King to send out his guards and they attacked the mansion, or the headquarters of Cloud and the Guilds; burning it to the ground. Roxas had saved Cloud, despite the bitter and merciless monster inside Roxas that would've left him to die. It still gnaws at Roxas' inside like a parasite. With the aid of insurgent guild members who no longer wished to be restricted under Cloud's iron fist, helped him escape the town and elected Roxas as their new leader.

Only he doesn't know how to properly lead mutineer men. Not while he has a bounty on his head and his father's men constantly stalking their backs, tasked with killing every last radical that dare to follow Roxas.

Now he along with the one hundred and seventy-five other insurgents are on the road constantly, never sleeping in the same place twice and carefully covering their tracks in fear of Cloud and his men finding them within the dead hours of the night. It is the near middle of autumn and nearly all of the leaves have been plucked off the branches and now coat the forest floor into a crunching carpet beneath their feet.

Roxas rubs his neck, but the bite mark of the mermaid he received has long since healed. Being bitten by the mermaid, Roxas was then thrown into hellish hallucinations brought on by their special and potent venom that targets the lobe of the brain that houses your worst fears. Just below the bite, Roxas can have a sense of where the needle of a syringe belonging to his father's mad scientist type minion had stabbed it into his neck. His father gaining information on the mermaid bite and the effects of their venom, had somehow created a serum that has similar effects. It was when Roxas refused to kill Ventus by his father's order did Cloud have Roxas pinned down and injected him with the serum.

Today Roxas is still quaking from the effects of both the toxins.

By the end of the tortuous ride, Cloud had ordered Roxas to kill Ventus again, or he will suffer once more. Ventus, who was the only true friend Roxas had ever gained, died that night, and Roxas can confidently swear that his blood still stains beneath his skin, where no one where ever be able to clean it from him. And now it would seem he haunts Roxas in his nightmares, as he has appeared more than once while on their travel. The death of his friend has since left Roxas almost like a hollow shell, a deafening silence has hardened at his core and swallows almost any form of grief and loss that threatens to choke Roxas with bloody fingers.

Looking to his left, he finds Axel asleep with one arm tucked under his head to substitute for the deflated hay pillow. His red spiky hair is a tousled mess, and a soft snore rattles his breath as he inhales. Despite all that's happened, including his first mate at Roxas' hand and blade, when in sleep his face is so much softer and at ease. He gives off such a sense of peace that his features become smooth like marble.

Roxas has to refrain from touching him since he doesn't want to disturb Axel with his shaking fingers. He clutches them to his chest and tries to slow his heartbeat and breathing. Tucking his knees to his chest, Roxas wraps his arms around his knees and begins to rock himself back and forth in an attempt to calm himself.

He had to refer to this method once he was told by Terra how he still screams and thrashing and clawing at nothing when being haunted by the demons of his nightmares was disturbing the man, and that Axel was losing sleep as he had to get up at night and go to Roxas tent where he would hold and coo Roxas until he went back to sleep in Axel's arms. And Roxas only affirmed it more when he started to see small bags form under Axel's eyes from lack of sleep.

Seeing him now so quiet and with even breathing, Roxas doesn't dare make even the slightest notion to touch Axel. So he rocks himself back and forth, trying to silence his ragged breathing. His tent soon feels like a prison cell. If he doesn't get air soon, he fears he's going to scream once more.

As quietly as he can, Roxas pushes to his feet and snatches his boots and jacket that lie sprawled next to his bedroll and pushes through the flap of the tent and out into the crisp, chilled air of oncoming dawn.

His maneuver wasn't silent enough, as the cold wind swept over Axel's face and he reacts with a squeezing of his eyes before fluttering them open and finding Roxas' bedroll empty and the flap of the tent wavering slightly.

"Roxas?"

Roxas runs down a forest trail and down towards a river close to the campsite. At first glance at him, some random traveler would think with his speed that he's trying to escape from someone. But Roxas isn't looking for escape, only to fill his lungs with air. He wants to be out in the open and see the sky and the moon.

Finally he sees the surface of the water as it ripples in the breeze, disorienting the reflection of the moon's light. Roxas slows his pace as he approaches; the tip of his nose he assumes is already starting to redden as it becomes runny and he has to sniffle. His face numbed from the wind, Roxas takes a seat on the stump of an old tree cut down years ago. Catching his breath, Roxas haunches forward, his elbows to his knees and fingers interlocked in the middle. His jacket isn't enough to stop his shivering or prevent gooses bumps form crawling their way along his arms and legs, the feeling being similar to ants.

Drawing his dagger free, the entire weapon made of ebony steel and one side serrated while another is smooth, Roxas grips it rightly in one hand as he muscles clench tight against the cold. He may be cold and winded, but he won't let a pack of wild dogs mistake him for being easy prey.

Alone with only his thoughts, Roxas begins to make his gaze go vacant as he drifts off to his thought.

When he accepted the role of leader, he knew he wouldn't be entirely alone. Two guildmasters, Terra of the Wolf Guild and Leon of the Lion Guild and Cid of the Shark Guild, have traveled with Roxas and have agreed to a form of demographic council, where they each meet and exchange ideas to one another and the one with the most unanimous vote of appeal wins, but it's really Roxas word that decides the task to take. While he knows that being leader isn't what it is really all about, they all understand that he is still young and inexperienced, and to just throw him straight into adult matters is simply disorienting and none of them have time to talk since they're all too focused on keeping their men alive.

The system works and it gives everyone a chance to share their opinions of things. And while Roxas doesn't always share his own words, he likes it this way. Not because of people almost doing the leadership work for him, but because it's more fair than how his father would run the guilds and that he gets to see how men dispute and reach a compromise that can almost meet the needs of everyone.

But still it does little in training him or preparing him for the troubles and headaches that are bound to come to those who question his leadership. Though Roxas can't say he blames them. Who would want to follow a young man, barely out of the age of nineteen, and who constantly screams bloody murder nearly every night in his tent from nightmares?

Leaning over to see his reflection in the water, Roxas can see another reason why the men wouldn't follow him but still chose to do so. He isn't the same ruthless boy that probably would've made a better leader than the one Roxas sees staring back at him. Crossing his arms, Roxas studies the outline of his spiky blond hair and wan features. His gaze lingers on the gain dark half-circles etched under each eye.

For a moment, it's as though he can't place his own face. A stranger, too thin, too pale, stares back at him, withered-looking, like a plant in need of sunlight. These days, it was getting harder and harder to tell what was real and not.

As the water settles down with the velvet touch of the wind, Roxas can see a tint of red in the water. He squints his eyes and leans closer and it isn't until he sees the color of skin morph under the red does he realize that the red is on the surface of the water.

Whirling his head around, Roxas finds Axel wrapped in a quilt with his long-sleeved tunic and loose trousers underneath. On his other arm he holds another blanket. His hair a tousled mess and drooping to his shoulders, Roxas just stares at him despite the glare his features are giving off.

"I thought I'd find you here." Axel says softly with a small smile.

Roxas' eyes flick from Axel's face to the blanket and then back before he turns his head to face the water again. "I couldn't sleep." He mumbles.

"Another bad dream?" Axel assumes.

Roxas nods and rests his chin on his knees.

"That's the third time this week." Axel says as he walks over to the young blonde. He takes the blanket and drapes it around Roxas' shoulders, the boy slightly cringing before relaxing.

Roxas should get up, move around, work the stiffness from his joints, but instead he merely sits as motionless as the stump beneath him. Axel pets Roxas' head and moves to sit next to the tree stump on the ground. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"No, not really." Roxas replies with a shake of his head.

"Are you sure you don't want any of those sleeping pills Zexion -"

"No." Roxas stops him abruptly.

Roxas knows what he's referring to. Zexion is the old apprentice sorcerer of Cloud and the Shadow Guild, but he has since joined Roxas and the mutineers in against him. He has the capability to heal the wounded, as he had done many times with Roxas in the past – Roxas taking full rights of being the one who trained him – and had lately become the doctor of the guild and now the rebel group. He has spent the better part of their traveling concocting up potions and spells by using natural ingredients all around them such as flowers and spices and poison plants. He had managed to make a form of sleeping pill created by the nectar of a honeysuckle for sweet taste and the calming components of chamomile flowers. But the last time Roxas tried a sleeping pill, created by Axel's former crew doctor Vexen, of who died by being caught in the crossfire back in Twilight Town by guard and a guild member, it had only intensified the hallucinations and nightmares brought on by the mermaid venom. Since then, Roxas had refused them, as they had left a bad taste in not only his mouth but his mind too. Zexion insisted they are free of any elements that induce nightmares, but Roxas still refused to take it and even with his reasons not being so strong, he is the leader and it's the only time he abuses it out of taking the pills.

Axel sighs and leans back, resting on his hands as he tilts his head up to the sky. "You want to talk about it?" he asks.

Roxas huddles into the quilt, finally taking notice that it was even there. He shakes his head. "Not yet." He answers.

"Any reason why? You've never hesitated before." Axel says.

Roxas looks to him and there's a familiar hardness in his eyes that Axel has watched Roxas put up when he's closing himself off. "Ventus was in it."

Axel's throat tightens and he has to clear his throat to rid the feeling. "Oh."

At first, after Roxas had killed Ventus, Axel had almost decided to hold a grudge against Roxas since he could've easily taken down his father and the men. But after witnessing what Cloud could do and how deep his cruelty goes, Axel realized that it wasn't Roxas' choice. It doesn't excuse him, and Roxas doesn't want to be excused as he has a hard enough time forgiving himself for his crime. And now Axel has taken on the task of showing Roxas that all is forgiven and that he doesn't have to completely beat himself over for what his father ordered him to do.

Axel reaches up and manages to grasp Roxas' fingers as they were tracing around the toe of Roxas boot. "You know I'm here for you, right?" Axel softly speaks.

"I know." Roxas replies flatly.

Unable to take the boy's stiffly responses, Axel gets up and rounds to the blonde's front. There he takes Roxas' face in his hands and leans in, placing his lips on Roxas'. He can immediately feel the boy slowly start to unwind like a tension coil as he lowers his knees to the ground, giving Axel more space to lean in. Roxas tilts his head to deepen the kiss and sighs into Axel's mouth. Breaking apart, Axel rests his forehead against Roxas' for a moment and he can hear the boy draw in a shaky breath.

"You should get some sleep." Roxas mumbles.

Axel can't help but quietly laugh. "As should you."

"That's easier said than done."

"Is there any way I can help?" Axel smiles.

Roxas gives a small smile back, and that affection alone is enough to make Axel feel like the richest man in the world. As he sees the boy come up with an idea in his head, Axel helps him off the stump. All of Roxas' joints complain and his right leg has been coiled tight for so long that it takes several minutes of pacing before the pins-and-needles sensation dwindles away. According to the sky, dawn is nearly approaching as Roxas and Axel walks back to the camp, Axel keeping a warm hand on the small of Roxas' back.

Back at the camp, they see Luxord exchange shifts to watch over the campsite. Axel gives Luxord a nod as they pass by, Roxas keeping his gaze low as they make a beeline for their tent.

Once behind the tarp curtain, Roxas casts aside his jacket, but keeps the quilt. Without exchanging words, Axel moves his bedroll closer to Roxas' and they body snuggle down together draping their blankets over.

Roxas scoots closer to Axel and wraps his arms around Axel's torso in an embrace. Axel hugs him back and breathes into the crook of Roxas' neck. "How about tomorrow we go hunting together?" he says as Roxas rests his head on Axel's chest.

"I'd like that." Roxas says, and Axel can tell he is smiling.

"Try to get some sleep. Okay?" Axel pats Roxas' back and gives a kiss on his forehead as Roxas settles down in his arms. Roxas hand grips Axel's and he strokes Axel's forefinger with his thumb.

As lets Axel's scent inhale his nose, Roxas catches himself wishing he had taken advantage of being alone with Axel. Time and again Roxas had to fight the urge to confess to Axel on how he doesn't want to be leader and how the rebels should've voted on someone who showed promise, even though he knew Axel would only turn it into some form of motivational speech.

Still a moment longer, though, with kissing Axel by a river bend in the moonlight, Roxas confesses to himself that he would've pushed things further. He doesn't know what it is, but lately he's been wanting Axel more and more. After confessing their love to one another, it has come to Roxas' attention on how Axel's kisses alone are almost not enough to sustain the hunger that lingers deep inside Roxas. A hunger for Axel.

A chill climbs up Roxas' spine, receding only when dimness and silence settles over the campsite.

He glances up to Axel, his eyes already closed in sleep and his breathing deep and even.

Axel had told him to go back to sleep. Now that he is wide awake, Roxas begins to doubt if he will ever know true rest again.


	3. Chapter 2

"I can do it this time." Axel slides the arrow into place the way Roxas showed him and slowly pulls the wire taut, his elbow perfectly parallel to the ground.

They headed south out of the campsite immediately after lunch, carefully climbing over the mounds of dirt and stone that litter the ground, dry leaves crunching beneath their feet. Roxas had managed to sink back into the depths of slumber for the rest of the night, or at least before dawn broke over the horizon and Terra and Leon had started their morning patrols and the men slowly starting to rise for breakfast.

Roxas was pretty quiet that morning, his dagger which is usually strapped to his sides was slipped up to his front just above the left pocket of his pants. As he ate a small handful of berries, Axel could see past the collar of his black leather jacket, and see the flame tattoo Roxas had gotten while Axel the crew were docked in Hollow Bastion. The flames are encased in the smooth curvatures of a heart, the tattoo on the direst lining of his own heart. The ink was mixed with a red ink, so when reflective in the light, it ripples crimson and black.

Several men around the camp, mostly the former guild members, have taken that simple decision of his, and somehow managed to incorporate it into the symbol of their liberation and rebellion against Cloud and his strict rules of power. Now nearly all of the men, Demyx and Zack and Luxord already taken the chance, have tattooed themselves with that flame and heart somewhere on themselves to show their allegiance.

Axel followed Roxas as he led him through bushes, across streams until they come to a secluded tree. Its skinny trunk and thin, graceful branches reach for the heavens as if hoping to scrape the clouds. Roxas stepped into a bush that hugged the base of a tree, its branches curving like a bell, its leaves brushing the ground. Beneath it, a small hollow space rested, where Roxas pulled out a bow and a sheath containing seven arrows. Roxas handed the sheath to Axel while he retrieved the bow.

"Why do you hide them?" Axel asked.

"In case something happens at the camp, I figured it'd be good to have some spare weapons at hand. Like a thief cache." He answered.

At first it was nice having Roxas teach him how to use a bow and arrow to hunt. With the rest of the crew and the former thieves of the guilds hanging around the camp, and plenty of weapons and others working on their sparing, Axel figured he'd take down his first rabbit, and then they'd have plenty of afternoon to spare for . . . other things.

Roxas had climbed up a tree and plucked an apple, dropping it in Axel's hands. Roxas slung the sheath of arrows off his back and leaned them against the trunk, then went over and set the apple on the stump of an old tree.

Walking back, he took the bow and handed it to Axel. "Alright, from here to that apple is about ten yards. Let's see what you can do."

Five misses later, Axel had adjusted his description from "nice" to "somewhat unpleasant."

Roxas decided to just take Axel into the woods, thankfully his sheath was adequate enough. This way even if he missed his intended target, maybe he could hit something by pure accident. Roxas had already demonstrated enough by taking down a squirrel through the eye, and a fox in the neck.

"Try and aim higher." Roxas instructs.

Eleven misses after that, Axel decided the best word to sum up the experience was "humiliating."

Roxas perks a smile. "Takes time, Axel." He taps Axel's shoulder with another arrow. "The kingdom wasn't built in a day you know."

"I can do this. One more time." Axel insists as he nocks the arrow. Roxas pulls another one from the sheath.

"Turn your left shoulder toward the target." Roxas whispers.

"I did."

"Not enough." Roxas nudges Axel to make his point. The rabbit in his sights freezes. "Now." He breathes against Axel's ear. "Shoot now."

Axel's fingers curve around the wire, and he quickly runs through the steps in his head. One vane turned away from the bow. Body perpendicular to the target. Feet shoulder width apart. Relaxed tension – whatever that means – in his stance.

"Axel, _now_."

The rabbit will run when he shoots. The faint noise of the arrow launching from the bow will send it scrambling for safety. Which way will it go? He'll need to compensate. Aim slightly to the left, to the spot where it first nosed its way out of the undergrowth? Or to the right in case it sprints forward?

Probably left. He'll try to return to what he knows is safe.

The rabbit jerks its head up, ears swiveling. Axel tries to find the anchor point along the tip of his nose, mouth and chin in time to shoot with any sort of accuracy. Axel release the wire, and the arrow wobbles slightly as it sails toward its target.

The rabbit dodges safely to the left.

That's what he gets for ignoring logic.

Axel hooks the bow over his shoulder and moves forward to collect the arrow. Sunlight filters in through the oak branches above him and hangs in the air like golden mist before dissipating into the deep shadows that stretch across the forest floor.

"I should've torqued my shot to the left." Axel says as he bends to dig the arrow out of the bush where it has gallantly speared a handful of crusty brown leaves. "I _knew_ it was going to run."

"Well, of course it ran. You gave it a good ten minutes' notice that you were going to shoot it." Roxas steps to Axel's side as Axel brushes off the arrow's chiseled metal tip.

Axel stares down at him. "I was double-checking the steps you gave me."

"You'd already done the steps." Roxas crosses his arms and taps his fingers against his elbow. "You were wasting time."

Axel speaks with as much dignity as a man who's missed seventeen shots in a row can possibly speak. "I was making calculations."

"You were doubting yourself." Roxas' eyes meet Axel's. "Hunting with about and arrow isn't science, Axel. It's poetry. Let me show you."

"It's a specific algorithm of speed, mass, and velocity." Axel says.

"Yeah okay, you've been spending too much time with Zexion."

But it's the truth. There's nothing poetic about hunting, unless you appreciate the beauty of a mauled animal with its eye lodged halfway up the shaft of an arrow, which Roxas probably does, but that's not the point. The point is that hunting with a bow and arrow isn't some romanticized communion with one's inner poetic instincts. It's cold hard skill, and there's absolutely no reason why Axel should continually fail at it when he understands usage of a weapon better than he understands anything else.

Maybe even better than he understands Roxas.

Roxas leads Axel to the edge of a little clearing, the towering oaks of the forest circling them like silent sentries. Twigs crunch softly beneath their boots. A handful of sparrows scold them vigorously as they stop beneath their tree.

Axel is still arguing his point.

"You can calculate the angle between yourself and your target, factor in wind speed and direction, account for the prey's instinctual flight and -"

Roxas steps behind Axel slides his hands over Axel's hips to position his body, Roxas' fingers pressing against him with tiny pricks of heat.

"And what?" Roxas asks as he reaches around Axle's back to pull his arms into position.

Axel swallows against the sudden dryness in his throat and tries not to dwell on the fact that Roxas' chest – his entire body – is leaning against him.

"Axel?" The wind ruffles a few spikes of his golden blonde hair and it tickles against Axel's face. "You were giving me your list of Things That Must be Taken into Account Before One Dares to Shoot an Arrow. What's next?"

"I don't -" Axel clears his throat. "I don't remember."

"Oh really?" Roxas' voice is low. "Maybe you wanted to warn me to always, multiply the force of the arrow with the probability that they prey will jerk to the left?"

"That doesn't . . ."

Roxas hooks his fingers around Axel's hand and together they nock the arrow, one vane pointed away from the bow. Roxas' skin is smooth against Axel's, and Axel tries hard not to imagine anything more than his hands.

"That doesn't what?" Roxas asks, his voice is nothing but a whisper against Axel's ear.

"That doesn't make sense. You can't multiply force with . . . whatever it was you said."

"With a probability?" Roxas' body molds to Axel's, their hands are inseparable, and Axel's heart feels like a hammer pounding against his chest.

"I – yes. That. Exactly."

They stand in silence for several excruciating minutes, waiting for more prey to appear. The scolding birds subside into cheerful chirping. The skeletal canopy above them clatter like hollow wooden tubes. Roxas leans against Axel, and Axel forces himself to review the proper method for creating a Blake's hitch knot just to give his mind something other than Roxas to think about.

Heat radiates from Roxas' body onto Axel's.

He wants to wrap Roxas in his arms until they both forget why they're even here.

Roxas shifts his weight, and Axel closes' his eyes.

"There." Roxas breathes the word against Axel's neck, and Axel's eyes fly open. They turn six degrees to the right and see another rabbit hopping slowly along the edge of the clearing. Their fingers relax away from the wire, and the arrow streaks across the space to bury its tip into the rabbit's side.

"Got it." Roxas says, his lips brush the side of Axel's neck.

All thoughts of rope tying fly out of Axel's head

He spins away from the rabbit, tosses the bow onto the ground, and pulls Roxas against him before he can open his mouth to tell Axel he was right – for once, poetry is the answer instead of math.

Kissing Roxas is like discovering a new element – one that turns his body into lava and sends sparks shooting straight through every logical thought still lingering in his head. Forget math and poetry. Especially poetry. This is much more fun.

Roxas' hands dig into Axel's shoulders, anchoring him to Roxas. Roxas' lips are softer than his hands, but he kisses like he's trying to win an argument.

Axel decides to let him.

Roxas clings to him, as his knees are suddenly unsteady. Axel pushes Roxas against the closest tree so that he has something other than the thought of the forest floor to pin Roxas to. Not that there's anyone around to see what they're doing. For the first time in two months, they are absolutely alone, and Axel doesn't plan to waste the opportunity.

Axel lifts his mouth from Roxas' long enough to say, "You were right." His voice sounds like he's just ran the length of the Lower Market of Twilight Town at a hard sprint.

"I know." Roxas says, and the smug little smile at the corner of his mouth makes Axel want to do things he shouldn't do, even though he knows the probability of being interrupted is so insignificant, it defies mathematical calculation.

Roxas lifts his lips towards Axel, and Axel kisses him like he never wants to up for air. A strange hum fills Roxas' head.

This is what he wants. Just Axel and the wide-open space of the forest. Nobody asking Roxas' opinion. Questioning Roxas' decisions. Looking at Roxas like somehow a nineteen-year-old boy can save them from their worst fears.

This is what he wants, but it isn't the life he's been given. It it's the path his choice – and the choices of others – have put him on, and until he sees it through, until the one hundred and seventy-five rebels in his case are safe and Cloud has paid for his crimes with his life, Roxas can't turn back.

He can, however, wish with everything in him that things were different.

The rough bark behind Roxas scrapes against Axel's knuckles as he fists his hands in the back of Roxas' jacket and tells himself he can't do more can kiss him. Not now. Not here. Not while the ruins of his life is still within a mile radius.

Not when he still screams himself hoarse every night in his sleep and refuses to discuss it with Axel when he wakes.

Roxas' hands slide down Axel's shoulders and over his chest until they come to rest on the loops of his belt strapped around his waist. Roxas scrapes his nail over the button near the front of Axel's trousers and is sends a sonic wave through Axel's limbs.

"You don't' have your gun on you." Roxas raises an eyebrow. "Not so smart."

"I have my moments, I admit it."

"Yes, you do." Slowly Roxas pulls his hand away from Axel's belt.

"Hey it's your fault." Axel smirks. "You keep distracting me."

"Or maybe you just have a short attention span." Roxas counters.

Axel gives a small gentle smile, and Roxas feels his heart tug at how similar to looks to Ventus'. But then again, maybe this is where Ventus had learned it. "I'm glad to see you smile again."

Roxas looks up and the smile almost goes away, but it stays, but just barely. "Not like I have much to smile about."

Axel remembers Roxas saying the exact same thing back when Roxas was still in the guild, and even back then he's still seen the same amount of death and blood even before he was banished from his hometown.

"You have me." Axel brushes his knuckles against Roxas' cheek and Roxas nuzzles into Axel's palm. "And I'm sorry you feel so, pressured."

Roxas' natural reaction to tell Axel how he doesn't understand, but this time he does. He was the captain of his own crew, he understands what it means to have people putting their faith in you, even when you're not sure of yourself. What it means to lose something so precious that you don't know if you can muster your strength do to even the simplest of tasks.

"How did you do it?" Roxas asks. "How did you get them to follow you?"

Axel licks his lips. "I . . . kept my promises. And I proved them wrong. And I had to see and understand their faith in me, in order to achieve it."

"Well I have nothing to put my faith in. _Especially_ myself." Roxas emphasizes.

Axel leans closer, his eyes drifting towards Roxas' lips. "You don't believe you can?"

"No! I mean look at what's happened. I've lost my home, my father's turned against me, I've killed the only other person in the entire world who even considered being my friend and now I've endangered nearly two hundred people who for some reason think that I'm their savior -!"

"Roxas, Roxas." Axel pulls Roxas into a hug and coos to him. "Calm down. Relax."

"I'm sorry." Roxas sighs. "I just, have nothing to put _my_ faith in."

Axel pulls slightly away and looks down at the blonde. "You can put your faith in me, Roxas."

Before Roxas responds, Axel kisses him again, and this time Axel is the one trying to win the argument. The bark scrapes against his hands, the hum fills his head again, and he loses himself in Roxas. He is in every breath Axel takes, and somehow Axel feels stronger than he has since he watched the flames gutter into ash inside the city. When he pulls away, Roxas is smiling.

"We'd better get back." Axel shades his eyes as he peers up at the sun, just visible beyond the entanglement of branches above them. Three hours until nightfall. Just enough time to return to camp, let Roxas run a sparring practice, and clean up most of the supplies to ready for the travel tomorrow.

Roxas walks across the clearing to collect Axel's catch. He grabs his sword from the forest floor as he pulls the arrow out of the rabbit. They work in companionable silence as Axel cleans the arrow and Roxas stuffs the rabbit into a burlap sack with the other small game he caught today.

Axel is sliding the arrow back into Roxas' quiver when he realizes Roxas is already skinning the game. "Hey, hey, at least wait until we get back to camp. It'll give you something to do."

Roxas rolls his eyes and stuffs the squirrel back into the sack. They make the trek back to the campsite, where it's bustling with similar sounds of the marketplace. A firepit has been lit and a few men are already roasting up the meat from Roxas' previous hunting exhibition. A couple men take turns lumbering the bark of trees for wood, of which Cid tells them to stop as they'll be moving by sunrise tomorrow. There's the clanking of tankards and conversations buzz around, making the camp seem more like a hive of hazed bees.

Demyx of whom has been sitting around the fire with Xigbar and Zexion, turns his head and smiles as Roxas and Axel come back into camp. Roxas is starting to believe that he has a form of sixth sense as to Roxas and Axel whenever they're approaching.

He gets up and greets Axel and Roxas, slinging one arm around Roxas' shoulder and escorting him over to the fire. The closer he gets, he soon sees Vanitas sitting on a log with a long metal stick skewering. The moment he's in sights, Roxas feels a smile crawl across his face and his feet immediately increase in speed as he approaches. Vanitas looks up and smiles and he sets aside his skewer stick to get up and open his arms wide. Roxas launches into his arms and lets out a small laugh, wrapping his arms around Vanitas' torso, still afraid to touch his neck.

Roxas follows Vanitas back to the fire and takes a seat next to Vanitas while Axel sits next to Demyx. Though he's not much hungry, Roxas uses the gathering as an excuse to glance at Vanitas' neck while he's distracted by a conversation with Zack.

Back at the mansion, behind Roxas' awareness, his father had strangled Vanitas, all for an order to make sure Roxas would stay in line when it comes to remaining 'pure' in order to be the proper heir to his father's criminal kingdom. His throat has long since healed, but still he sustained damage to his throat, resulting in a lower tone of his voice and certain hoarseness that would pop up at random, forcing him to cough and clear his throat.

Vanitas had become one of the other teachers when it comes to training the rebels; more specifically Axel's crew. They argue that they can fight, and there's no denying that, but they're nowhere near the level of skill Roxas is or any members of the guild. Roxas couldn't really drive himself to ask of Leon, Terra or Cid. Even though Roxas is the "leader", he couldn't bring himself to convince the still fairly esteemed guildmasters to reduce themselves to teachers of sea men. Vanitas seemed more than happy in instructing the rebels, and thankfully the rebels seemed more than willing to learn how to fight like the swift guildmembers. Lexaeus also volunteered to teach as well.

They sit around the fire for at least a handful of minutes, roasting the meat on spits over the fire, men laughing at a humiliating story Demyx is telling which seems to involve his arms flailing like the body of a fish out of water. Roxas doesn't pay much attention except he can see out of his peripherals that Axel keeps eyeing him and Vanitas whenever the two would share a laugh or Vanitas would wrap his arm around Roxas with a smile. Roxas would normally roll his eyes but they've had this discussion, or more rather Axel would mention something and Roxas would brush it off hoping that by incorporating to Axel that he doesn't care, it would soon rub off on Axel that there's nothing to worry about. Besides, Roxas had already declared his love to Axel back when he and his crew were held prisoners in his father's mansion, and after losing Ventus, he couldn't afford to even think about losing Axel since he is part of the small family Roxas has left.

Once the bonfire is needed for preparing dinner, Roxas gets and readies his weapons. He approaches the training ground, located fifteen yards away from the first line of tents that mark the camp. Vanitas is already waiting for him, his iris skin glowing in the sun. The rest of the mutineers are hurrying toward their various job assignments, casting furtive glances at the distant riverside. Vanitas weaves through the scattering of people, his movements controlled and graceful. Roxas meets him halfway. As Vanitas approaches, Roxas can see that his hair ruffles in the breeze and his ember eyes glisten like moonlight on water. He still wears his dark purple cloak and black tunic and trousers and boots. Roxas is still unaware whether or not Vanitas has gotten his tattoo, not that he's pressuring anyone to get it.

"I heard you screaming in our sleep last night." Vanitas says as he walks up to Roxas. His voice is calm and emotionless as always. "I was walking past your tent after my guard shift."

Roxas glares at him. "What, no 'hello'? No small talk? Just straight into things that are none of your business?"

"Roxas." His tone is gentle but unyielding. "We're friends. How is it none of my business?"

Roxas sighs. "They're just nightmares. They'll pass."

"Not until you face what causes them. And you said that two and a half months ago."

There's a glimmer of pain buried in his words, but Roxas has to search to find it. Roxas used to hate the way Vanitas always holds himself under such tight control. Especially since they both come from similar, if not the same similar backgrounds of blades and poison and shadows. Back then, fury and hatred burned inside Roxas at equal strength, and Roxas couldn't help but scorch everything he touched.

But fires only burn until you starve them for fuel. And the ashes of his fury are as cold and silent as the streets of the Lower Market.

"I'll face what causes my nightmares as soon as I drop all of these people off at the Faceless and I can search for my father without risking their lives." Roxas' lips feel stiff with coldness, colder than the nip of air that travels along the autumn breeze. It's like the icy silence that swallowed the grief of losing Ventus, and his father is leeching the warmth from his skin. Roxas walks towards the practice field without a backward glance while the silence inside of Roxas shivers.

A breeze lifts the bits of leaves from the forest floor and slaps them all in the face with grit as the twenty-eight rebels who've faithfully attended every practice session spread out on the field. A pile of stolen knives and swords lie to Roxas' right, and a stack of practice sticks fashioned from tree limbs is on his left. A few have reached the point where they can train with real weapons, but most are still using practice sticks.

Roxas clears his throat, and twenty-eight pairs of eyes lock on him. Vanitas walks over past Roxas and stands a few feet off to Roxas' right with the weapons. Demyx is here, wearing a long-sleeved black tunic with a low neckline and a brown leather jacket with grey trousers and his brown boots. Luxord, with his platinum blonde hair and electric-blue eyes stands next to Xaldin, a former member of the Shadow Guild. He is a broad-shouldered man who has black hair styled into distinctive dreadlocks. One of these dreads is used to tie most of the others into a sort of ponytail, while. He also has bushy eyebrows and very thick sideburns, and entrancing violet eyes. A small knot of boys - probably trainees from the guild and most of them younger than Roxas by two years - stand close to him, eyeing him hopefully. Aqua stands near Vanitas as well, the sun painting her short, blue hair into sapphire as she flashes a sultry smile in Vanitas' direction whenever he makes eye contact. Most of the men in camp melt when Aqua aims one of her smiles at them. Vanitas is a notable exception.

Another boy elbows his way to the front of the pack, and Roxas rolls his eyes. If they could get the rest of the rebels as interested in Vanitas' instruction, they'd be a battalion full of trained soldiers in no time.

"Are we going to get started, or what?" someone asks.

Roxas looks past Luxord and sees Xigbar. Bruises mar his olive skin and his dark eyes glare stare into Roxas'. Xigbar has two distinct injuries since Roxas first met him on the pirate ship. One being a damaged right eye covered by an eyepatch, while the other is a large jagged scar extending from his left cheek and dies in the unremitting darkness of his left eye. He could be a fairly attractive man is someone hadn't recently used him as a punching bag.

"Get in another fight?" Roxas asks him.

"He deserved it." his expression is mutinous.

"You always think everyone deserves it. What if you're wrong?"

Ventus' face, pale and cold, burns into his memory, and Roxas shoves it away before he can remember the terrible wet sound of his dagger sliding into his chest. Before his blood pours over his hands, a stain Roxas will wear beneath his skin for the rest of his life.

The words hit their mark and Xigbar's expression softens, and Roxas turns away from the pain in his eyes. He needs comfort, and Roxas is all out. Deep in his eyes, Roxas can see the kind of fathomless grief that drags you under until you no longer care if you ever find the surface again.

Blinking away the stark memory of Ventus', Roxas walks out more towards the open sparring area. Roxas recognizes the fury that drives him. Roxas once used something like it as fuel to give himself a reason to face one more day. To take on more step forward, even though it means leaving behind the life he once thought he'd have.

"Break into three groups, now." Roxas says and the twenty-eight rebels, now armed with practice sticks, slowly gravitate towards Roxas and Vanitas and Lexaeus.

Mostly towards Vanitas, who seems oblivious to the way the boys watch his every move with hungry, admiring eyes, or the way the older men pretend indifference but are careful to copy his stance and the tilt of his chin.

Demyx, Luxord, Zack and Hunter surround Roxas in their corner of the practice field. A man old enough to be Roxas' father joins them as well, along with three boys who can't be more than seventeen. Roxas recognizes them from the guild, and even then they were still training to level up. The youngest, a boy named Ethan, keeps stealing glances at Vanitas like he wishes he'd joined his group instead.

They begin running practice drills, and the sharp slap of wooden sticks slamming against each other fills the air. The practice sticks are heavy enough to approximate the weight of a short sword and long enough to give their recruits a sense of the way a weapon lengthens your reach and changes your balance. Roxas paces around his group, calling out instructions.

"Keep your grip loose." Roxas taps Demyx's white knuckles. "Hands wide apart to give you stability and power."

Hefting his sword, Roxas demonstrates. "You need to be able to block effectively. Watch." Roxas nods towards Ethan. "Hit me."

"I – what?"

"Hit. Me." When he hesitates again, Roxas snaps. "Did you think this would be all safe practice drills? Swing that stick at me, Ethan I'm going to show everyone how to deflect a blow."

"I don't want to hurt you." He says as she lifts his stick.

"You won't." Roxas rolls on the balls of his feet and widens his stance. Ethan swings at Roxas' side. Roxas pivots and slams his sword into Ethan's weapon. It goes flying out of his hand.

Roxas swears viciously. "You'd be dead right now. Dead!" Springing forward, Roxas gets in Ethan's face. "When you swing your weapon, you give it everything you've got. Every time. Now pick up your stick and come at me again."

Ethan's face flushes. "I can't sir -"

Swearing again, Roxas snatches Ethan's stick off the ground and thrust it at him. "I am no sir." Roxas' voice is unyielding. "I am no knight, and no noble."

"Not with that mouth, you're not." Lexaeus says with a tiny smirk on his face.

Roxas glares at him, and then includes everyone else for good measure. "The Guild protocol that promised protection in exchange for absolute submission is dead. Forget everything you think you know about being a thief." Roxas looks to Ethan. "Or how to fight like a thief. This is battle, and despite my father's protest to the contrary, anyone is capable of attacking, defending, and killing. _Anyone_ who comes at you with intent to harm you must be put down. At least with me I won't kill you while training."

What was thought to be a joke, anyone's snickers die out when they see the hardened expression on Roxas face. Demyx turns to Lexaeus. "Is that true?"

Lexaeus answers with a simple raise of his eyebrows, his lip flattening into a thin line. "He only wanted the best." He says.

Everyone turns their heads back to Roxas as he pulls off his jacket and tosses it to the side. His arm muscles flex as he lifts his sword. "Now attack me like you mean it."

Ethan's stick whistles through the air. Roxas whips his sword up and blocks the blow. The power of it reverberates up his arms. "Good. See how I block with the middle of my weapon? My balance is still centered, and I can safely pivot to either side and deliver a blow of my own."

Roxas swings to the left and slam the hilt of his sword against Ethan's thigh.

"Block me!" Roxas pivots and swings.

Ethan blocks him. Barely, but it's a victory and Roxas rewards him with a smile. Then he divides up his group and sets them to sparring with each other while he studies all twenty-eight trainees and size them up.

Of course they all show potential, Roxas already knew that ahead of time, it's more of the style that they need to work on. Normally Axel and his crew are used to charging in battle head on, but with their world colliding with the shadows, they need to learn to adapt or die. Just like the saying that Cloud had always taught Roxas.

Adapt or Die. Think on your feet, even when sleeping.

Roxas turns to study the other groups and find several who've developed decent instincts, strength, and agility. A man in Vanitas' group can block almost any blow aimed at him. Another kicks with enough power to knock Vanitas off balance. Even a few of the boys in Lexaeus' group aren't half-bad. Tidus, who is a year younger than Roxas, and Derrick, a man with creases in his forehead ad strength in his arms, move like they've been training for months instead of weeks.

As Roxas reaches the edge of the practice area, closest to the campsite, he's putting on his jacket when he realizes that, outside the clapping of weapons and practice sticks, the silence between everyone has extended into the surrounding woodlands. The hush is weighted with tension as all of the little noises that usually fill the forest fade into nothing. There's only one reason forest wildlife suddenly goes silent: They're hiding. And since they've long since adjusted to the training group's presence, they aren't hiding from them.

Roxas feels his skin crawl with goosepimples as the realization hits him: They're not alone.

His feet bursting into a full sprint, Roxas barrel's past Vanitas and Lexaeus, fast enough that their clothes whip in his wake.

"Roxas?" Vanitas calls.

Roxas lifts his arms. Bending forward, using his gained momentum, he launched in a round-off. The world blurred, becoming a mesh of light and streaking colors. Catapulting into a midair Arabian, knees tucked in, he became weightless. And then, _clap_, his hands grab branch and swings into the tallest tree he can find. The bark scrapes against his skin as he digs his boots into the trunk and shinnies his way towards the top. Roxas climbs nearly fifteen yards before he's up high enough to see over the trees around him and into the plains beyond.

For a moment, all looks peaceful. But then he catches movement to the east. Whatever trees that have their colorful leaves left rattle slightly. The dull flash of black.

Make that many flashes of black.

Roxas' heart pounds, and his fingers dig into the bark as a massive flock of crows explodes out of the trees twenty yards east of campsite and spirals into the sky, screaming their distress.

"Roxas!"

A large group is traveling through the woods, heading straight for the camp. Roxas stares at the eastern trees for a moment, trying to count. Are they dealing with ten? Twenty?

Soon the rattling of the trees becomes greater and greater. Realizing that he _can't_ count how many approach, Roxas swiftly climbs down until he reaches ten feet and jumps down. The impact is hard enough that his ankles jar with pain and Vanitas and Lexaeus flinch back. Roxas must have a form of expression on his face because before they even attempt to ask a question, their faces switch from curiosity to . . . not fear, but something like it.

"Everyone get to the camp and start packing!" Roxas orders as he speedwalks, nearly running back.

The trainees scatter back to camp, repeating the order. Vanitas keeps pace with Roxas while Lexaeus jogs ahead.

"Roxas, what's going on?" he asks.

"We've got movement in the east." Roxas pants. As they talk, their speed matches even when it increases to a sprint without either of them needing to speak.

"How many?"

"Don't know, but they're traveling fast and by tree leaping."

"How much time?"

"Minutes."


	4. Chapter 3

Roxas runs hard, his weapons slapping his thighs while more birds spill out of the trees to the northeast. Whoever is moving towards the campsite is traveling fast.

Roxas zips up his jacket and as he crosses the threshold into the camp, he weaves his way through the mass of people as they run left and right to pack up the camp and heads to his and Axel's tent. The whole time his mind is racing, and he finds himself hoping that his father is in this attack, and even praying that he will meet his end at the point of Roxas' blade.

Pushing the flap aside, Roxas gulps down a small cry along with the cold air when he finds the space vacant. He whirls around, and before he can stop himself, his voice calls out with a panic stricken edge to it. "Axel!"

He starts to push against the incoming tide of men, trying to see if he can spot a flash of red. He watches as Lexaeus and Terra head towards the direction of the oncoming assailants. Snaking back and forth between men wielding weapons and cloth and small boxes of food, Roxas' runs through Axel's schedule for the day. He tries to track Axel as he would prey on a hunt. See Axel react to the men shouting towards the campsite, rushing to acquire his weapons and leaving the tent even though he knows the initial direction it would take to get to Roxas. Where else could he go?

"Axel!" Roxas hollers throughout the camp. "_Axel_!"

"Roxas!" a voice replies. Roxas whirls around with a small bit of hope, but it burns out when he finds Demyx running towards him, his cheeks flushed with running, hauling two swords.

"Demyx! Where is Axel?" Roxas grips Demyx's arm while still while following the mass of men as they head towards the entourage.

"I know where he is, but we need you on the front lines." Demyx says.

"But where is he?!"

"I'll go and get him, but Lexaeus needed me to tell you to meet him by the east end of the camp." He ends it there before turning around and bolting off in the opposite direction. He pauses and turns back and yells. "And bring a bow!"

Roxas tries to call back, his hand extending out to stop Demyx, but his fingers clench when Demyx continues on his determined path. Grunting in aggravation, Roxas rushes over to the firepit where he had docked his bow and arrows, grateful to find them still there. He seizes them and follows the mass of men. When he starts to push his way through, they start to form a straight path to the front where he can see Lexaeus, Terra, Leon and Cid. Roxas hurries through and meet up with them. The four guildmasters branch off to the side. At first they strain to hear something. Birds. Footsteps. The metallic kiss of a sword leaving its sheath.

Nothing.

It's as if the army traveling through the woods has disappeared. Or as if they're lying in wait. Assessing their target. Watching for the perfect moment to attack.

"Alright, can you count how many there were?" Leon asks.

"No, and that's what scares me the most. I could see they were tree leaping, fast. You think my father is with them?" Roxas asks.

Terra scoffs. "That man is as unpredictable as mother nature itself."

"Is there a plan?" asks Cid to Roxas.

"We need to get the rebels to safety. We need to keep them from passing the threshold of the campsite while the others pack up." Roxas says.

"Seems doable. But the process could be long." Terra suggests.

"You think he'll have them kill me?" Roxas asks.

"I apply the same answer as before." says Terra.

A twig snaps ahead, up from above, a loud crack that has Roxas reaching for his sword, searching for movement.

Everything is still.

"I have Lexaeus in charge of the roundup." Roxas clarifies. "He can do it. And I need you three up front with me. Now doubt they'll want to make a big entrance. Get into positions."

The men scatter and the rebels flatten themselves onto their bellies and waits with swords and bows ready. Roxas along with the rest of the guildmasters climb the trees nearest to them. Roxas climbs fifteen feet high, reaching a point where a small gap in between branches allows him the perfect view point.

He can see one cloaked man with his hood drawn, sitting squat on a thick branch with a handheld crossbow in his hand. He gives a few hand signals and the leaves ruffle behind him. Roxas pulls and arrow out of his quiver and links it to the string. Narrowing his vision, Roxas uses the intimate silence to concentrate as he pulls the string back. He takes a few deep breaths to steady his breathing. For a second, Roxas takes note of the arrow newly made by Zexion using a small flint that can light by friction, attacked to a small pouch of gunpowder at the tip of the arrow. Upon impact, he summarizes it's supposed to eradicate anything within its radius; not to mention the smoke that it can cause once the initial explosion has happened. Roxas doesn't remember putting them in his sheath as Zexion said that they were still a work in progress. Guess this must be the perfect opportunity to test drive the prototypes.

Roxas squints his eyes, nearly closing his right one. After another breath, his fingers loosen and the arrow goes flying. Once is whistles out of sight, Roxas closes his eyes ad pretends to see the world from the tip of the arrow. He zips through the trees, the branches, braising past leaves and landing right into the chest of the cloaked man.

An explosion sounds from across the field.

Snapping his eyes open, Roxas watches as three black, scorched bodies drop to the ground. Streams of steam sizzle off of their bodies.

The entire western tree line explodes into motion. A wave of cloaked men pour out of the trees, swords and daggers drawn, and charge the campsite.

"Hold them off!" Terra orders. "Don't let them get passed the border to the camp!"

Leon and Cid unleash their battle cry as they charge, the men rushing after them, swords gleaming in the dying rays of the sun. Roxas shoots another arrow and a small explosion burps up from the ground, scattering at least five men, sending them sprawling with hissing backs.

The wave of cloaked men crash into the band of insurgents and the scream of metal against metal shivers through the air. Two of the rebel men go down immediately. Roxas stays poised in his tree, continuously firing his arrows and each landing into an attacker. Lexaeus grips a sword in one beefy hand and his thick, tomahawk in the other. He swings both like he's a falling tree. Ethan and Hunter stand back-to-back, their swords flashing in the sunlight.

They're all fighting with skill and courage.

Axel's feet pound against the ground as he and Demyx approach the sounds of battle roars and chaos. Axel had gone off into the woods to locate the bow and arrow Roxas had stashed near the campsite. Demyx had found him just as Axel had slung the sheath of arrows on his back, breathless and heaving about Roxas and Axel needing to return. It would seem that they have arrived just after the initial shot was fired and now men run through the trees, both on the ground and above as they try to head towards the campsite.

Axel and Demyx rush in to make up for lost time. Though they rush in together, Axel loses Demyx immediately as men come rushing. Axel keeps his gaze ahead and drops to his knees, sliding under the blade of a curved blade of a cloaked man. Axel draws a dagger and slices at the man's calf. As Axel comes up to his feet, he grabs a fistful of the man's cloak and yanks him back. As the man falls, Axel presses his pistol into the middle of the man's spine and fires. He falls to the ground slack. Without pause, Axel turns around and starts to fire. Four oncoming cloaks go down, and a fifth manages to dodge, but Axel still gets his foot making him go off balance. The man crumbles to the ground and Axel slams his foot into the man's head.

Off to his right, Axel can see Vanitas standing on top of a small incline, firing arrows at the loyal guild members who dare rub up to the camp. Terra holds the ground below him, disarming those who try to reach him. He deflects all blows, flips out of the way and kicks in counterattack. His control and flexibility almost make it seem like he's dancing. For a moment, Axel understands what Roxas means about poetry being incorporated in the techniques of the guild.

"Roxas!" Axel calls, switching weapons. He brings his sword up and blocks the deathblow from one member dawned in a dark brown cloak; that's the Wolves, isn't it? They lunge, sing, block, and parry away.

Axel takes a sharp blow to his shoulder and spins into the trunk of a heavy oak. The bark scrapes against his skin as his breath leaves his body. Pain rips a path from his shoulder to his jaw. He turns his face to look at his attacker as he whips his sword towards Axel's neck.

Instantly, Axel drops to the ground, feeling the sword slice above the air above him as he falls. His sword is useless now. Too long and too lean to do any damage unless he can gain some leverage. With his back to the trunk and his attacker directly in front of him coming in for another blow, leverage isn't one of his options.

Axel dives forward, slam into the attacker's knees, and reach for his knife when he staggers back a step. The man raises his sword. Axel presses one hand into the ground for balance and gathers himself. The man's sword flashes through the air, and Axel rolls to the left, his knife hand slashing as he goes.

The sword whiles past his head. Axel leaps to his feet, and the man lunges towards him on legs suddenly too weak to hold him. Axel follows his gaze as the man stares down at the deep cut on his thigh, at the blood gushing out of his artery with every beat of his heart. Before he falls to his knees, Axel is already gone. Scooping up his sword, Axel battles to cross the last few yards between him and the meadow.

"Roxas!" he screams again.

As another man in a dark blue cloak sprints towards him, a gleaming sickle in each hand, he doesn't even have time to raise it before an arrow impales his forehead. Looking above him, Axel watches as a black figure leaps across the branches of the trees before landing at the edge of the threshold.

Dropping to the ground, he readies out his bow before sprinting from the shelter of the trees. Axel quickly sprints after it, stopping where the figure once stood and watches.

Roxas vaults over a pile of bodies arrows flying from his bow. Axel watches Roxas as he keeps his back straight, but his posture leaning forward resulting in the increase of his speed, arms following the line of his back. Once his quiver is empty, he whacks at the next cloak with the bow, ultimately snapping it in half. Then he takes the quiver and opens it wide, having it swallow the head of another man, and burying his dagger into the man's sternum. Drawing a second dagger, Axel watches as Roxas unleashes his fury on the men in cloaks.

He spins with terrifying speed, swiping the legs out from underneath loyal guild members and kicking away their weapons. He fights with lethal precision, and suddenly Axel is taken aback to the moment he first encountered Roxas. Back at the mansion of some rich family. Axel's men had started a riot in town, and as they had gathered near the gates of the mansion, of which was already on fire, he saw the boy leap into the air from the power of his legs, and started to slash and vault over anyone that stood in his way. His speed and skill and ultimate grace of his moves set him apart from the others. Axel's vision seems to slow as he stares at Roxas.

His blonde hair ripples in the wind created by his sprinting. Small dots of blood sprinkle across his face, mimicking freckles while he jumps, flips and slashes his sword at any man barreling towards him. His beautiful blue eyes are hardened into an icy, pale sapphire, and while his expression is indifferent, almost showing boredom, it's mixed with steely determination. Even without his cloak to exaggerate his movements, he still bends and flips out of the way as if his bones are made of water.

Roxas is the only one who could turn killing and stabbing into an art form.

When a man grabs Roxas from behind, Roxas jabs his dagger into the soft meat of his assailant's leg, and the man stiffens, his grip loosening slightly. Before he can recover, Roxas snaps his head back, smashing his skull into the man's nose.

Bright lights dance at the edges of Roxas' vision as he crushes the man's instep with his boot and whirls around, his other dagger slicing at his neck.

Hatred is steel running through Roxas blood, and it feels like courage.

A man lunges for Demyx, and when Demyx goes to swing his sword, the man blocks it with his own while blood pours from a gash above his temple. He then balls up his fist to punch Demyx in the face. Demyx whips his dagger up to block him, but Roxas hurtles through the air and knocks the man to the ground.

His hair flies in the wind as he wrenches the man's sword arm into an impossible angle. The man screams in agony as the sickening crack of a bone ripping apart from its tendons fills the air. Roxas jabs his knife into the man's neck before back-flipping high and whipping his arms in an outward X, unleashing a wave of throwing knives. Any cloaked man perusing Vanitas and Terra go down with only the hilts sticking out of their backs.

Axel snaps out of his trance before he can compare Roxas' fighting to that of when they were on the ship and fighting against a rival ship, and runs over to join Vanitas and Terra. Without word, Axel hands his quiver of arrows to Vanitas just as he used his last arrow. Vanitas takes it with a smile and starts his fast shooting again.

"God, how many are there?" He says to Terra.

"Enough that each of our men are satisfied with the bloodshed." Terra says.

"Cloud can't afford to send all his men at once." Vanitas speaks as his arrow pierces a man's throat. "When we get word of the camp's status, we get out."

Pulling out his pistol, Axel counts the bullets before he aims. "Think Roxas can handle it?"

After releasing another arrow, Vanitas looks to Axel with a look on his face that accuses Axel of knowing the answer to his own question.

"Nevermind." Axel says shaking his head, and he fires his pistol. He keeps his aim on the heads as the men still approach.

Up ahead, Axel can see Roxas still effortlessly dancing around more of the men, not even looking the slightest short of breath. He slams himself into the side of a cloak man standing between him and Ethan, then slices his dagger across the man's neck as he turns. Blood spurts, and Roxas staggers back is arcs towards him.

On the hill, Terra feels a hand clap his shoulder and turns to find Lexaeus. "We're set." he says. Terra nods and after head-butting a man and ramming his knee into the man's stomach, he sheathes his dripping sword and bites his lower lip, unleashing a shrilling high-pitched whistle. Instantly all of the insurgents' heads pop up and the men scramble across the grass and towards the camp area.

Roxas and Demyx take out two more men before Demyx turns to Roxas and says, "Time to go."

Sheathing their weapons, they both sprint across the grass along with the remaining men, which in count is a very good portion, Roxas yelling orders to whoever is on the other side of the mound to kill any loyal guild members who are still perusing them. He makes sure Demyx goes ahead of him, and in seconds Demyx is over the other side.

Roxas is making his way towards the camp, but his spine suddenly shivers. As he is about to turn his head, someone from behind Roxas wraps a fist around his hair and yanks him back.

"Roxas!" Demyx screams.

The cloaked man holding Roxas' hair pulls Roxas against him, trapping his sword arm in a movement so fluid and fast, Roxas doesn't even register it until he's already at a disadvantage. The few remaining stragglers of loyal guild members around Roxas step back, and a sudden silence falls across the field.

"Roxas Skyes!"

Roxas' name, cut into bite-size syllables, echoes through the air, coated in fury. He knows that voice. Terror and rage battle for control over his body. His limbs are too heavy. His head is too light. A distant roaring fills Roxas' ears as the guild member holding Roxas pivots him towards the open field, littered with dead bodies of loyal guild members. And Roxas can see Cloud Skyes, his former father and the man who singlehandedly destroyed Roxas and his world, walks towards him decked out in his black cloak, his hood down.

Cloud glares at Roxas with palpable hatred.

Roxas' pulse thunders against his ears as he glares back.

A slew of Shadow Guild members dressed in dark blue leather cloaks with shining silver weapons step out of the cover of the trees and form ranks behind their leader. It seems like Cloud hasn't been able to expand his army since he still only has the guild members that Roxas recognizes as well as the colors that are still all too familiar.

For a moment, Roxas goes back through all of the colors of the Guilds he knows from around the town and kingdoms, but right now they don't matter. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that Cloud is coming closer, and Roxas is pinned.

He needs to be free of this loyal guild member before Cloud reaches him, or he's dead; now more convinced his father won't hesitate to kill him. But Roxas isn't about to die without taking his former father with him.

"You took something from me." Cloud says, his blue eyes burning.

The dull ache of missing Ventus throbs beneath Roxas' breastbone, and then slowly sinks into the ice silence that blooms inside of Roxas while he held Ventus' dead, bloody body in his arms.

Cloud can't hurt him if Roxas refuses to feel it.

Roxas lets the memory of Ventus dissolve his terror and straightens his spine. Raising his chin, Roxas tightens his grip on his dagger while he says, "You took something of mine too."

His laugh is a bitter poison spilling from his lips. "I suppose you think we're even now, son?"

"I am not your son!" Roxas spits.

Loyal guild members step aside and Cloud comes closer. Roxas has forty yards before Cloud reaches him. Maybe less. His dagger is a reassuring weight in his left hand. Roxas lowers his arm, and the guild member holding him tightens his grip. Roxas flips the blade around and aims for what he hopes is the artery in the man's thigh.

He's only going to get one chance at this.

Meeting Cloud's eyes, Roxas raises his voice and speaks as clearly as possible. "We won't be even until you lie dead ay my feet."

A faint _thwing_ disturbs the air, and an arrow flies past Roxas to bury itself in Cloud's chest. Roxas doesn't know whether to celebrate that someone – most likely Vanitas – had such excellent aim or to be sorry that he didn't get to destroy Cloud himself.

Roxas doesn't get the chance to decide because Cloud sneers, reaches for the arrow, and yanks it free. Roxas stares at Cloud's chest, waiting for the blood to come. Willing it to come, but it doesn't.

He's wearing armor. Not just the light, leather armor that most thieves wear for quicker getaways from guards, but actual steel armor. If he has that, that could mean that all of the guild members may have it too, any blows they aim at their chests will be useless. Of course Cloud had to get some upper hand over Roxas as a way to convince the remaining guild members on why they should stay with him, especially after Roxas has more than the thieves guilds on his side.

"Aim for the head!" Roxas screams.

Cloud throws the arrow onto the ground and charges forward. Vanitas doesn't fire again. Either he's out, or he has his hands full defending with the rebels inside the camp from loyal members that overran the threshold. Either way, Roxas has seconds before Cloud reaches him. Seconds to get free of the loyal member who pins him, draw his blade and prepare to kill Cloud or die trying.

Roxas lifts his foot and rams his heel down onto the soldier's toe and the moment his grip loosens, Roxas wrenches his arms free and takes his dagger and stabs the man while his back is still facing him. Roxas can hear the sickening slosh of the man's blood as he chokes on it and Roxas can feel the whoosh of his body as he drops to his knees.

Lunging forward, Roxas readies his blade to swipe at Cloud's ankle to trip him. Once Cloud is on the ground, Roxas will attack quickly and without mercy. Just the way he taught Roxas.

"Roxas, get over the hill!" Vanitas snaps at him, but Roxas can barely hear him past the pounding of his pulse.

Fifteen yards. Fifteen yards and Cloud is his. Cloud's dark eyes mock Roxas as he reaches for his sword. Roxas spins his dagger between his fingers. Cloud thinks he can crush Roxas beneath his boot like he's nothing.

Like the one he took from Roxas was nothing.

Roxas lifts his dagger, keeping it pressed close to his body, ready to slash the back Cloud's knee at the last moment.

Ten yards. Roxas calls up the memory of Ventus' sweet smiling face and holds it steady.

Eight yards.

Strong hands wrap around Roxas' waist from behind and lifts him off the ground.

"No!" Roxas wrenches himself to the left, trying to break free, but the hands just clamp down harder. "Let me go!"

Seven yards.

"You aren't sacrificing yourself today." Vanitas says, and hauls Roxas towards the hill.

"That's not your choice!" Roxas elbows him, but he won't relent, and Roxas doesn't want to fight hard enough to hut him. "Vanitas that's not your choice!"

Six yards.

Vanitas' hands loosen. "Then I'll fight with you."

For a moment, Roxas remains resolute, facing Cloud. Roxas can end it now. One way or the other. He can find peace.

But what good is peace if it comes at the expense of someone who doesn't deserve to die? Vanitas is an exceptionally good fighter, but he can't hold off an army of assassins and thieves by himself. If Roxas takes down Cloud, the army could finish them both.

Roxas has enough blood on his hands. He won't add Vanitas'.

Swearing viciously, Roxas grabs Vanitas' hand and pulls him towards the hill. They move quickly and together they scramble up the hill, trying desperately to make it over the top before anyone can stop them.

Footsteps thunder towards them as Cloud screams at his men to capture Roxas and Vanitas. Loyal members swarm head for the hill as Roxas and Vanitas hurry up, reaching the flat top still run until they're away from the valley.

Lexaeus yells, "All clear!" and strikes a pitch-coated match. Loyal members reach the top of the hill as Lexaeus lights the fuse and then runs with Roxas and Vanitas towards the lower other side of the hill where all hints of the campsite are all gone; wrapped in packs and strapped to the backs and waists of all the members. They've put twenty yards between them and the hill when the giant shards of dirt and grass explode with enough force to drive everyone to their knees.

The trees rattle and the three of them are blown forward. The impact of the hard-packed earth of the plain knocks the wind out of nearly all of them. Roxas manages to roll with the momentum, but still tumbles and slides across the grass. Vanitas skipping like a stone on water. Lexaeus hits the ground beside them like a load of bricks and lies still. Roxas reaches for him as a second explosion splits the grass skin and sends several tons of debris crashing and avalanching down the forward side of the hill. The ground still shakes form the explosions. Roxas shields his head with his hands as shattered bits of matter, some of it burning, rain down around them; burying cloaked members who were chasing after the boys. An acrid smoke fills the air, burning Roxas' throat as he tries to regain his breathing.

After about a minute, the ground stops vibrating. Lexaeus stirs beneath Roxas' hands and coughs sharply. Zexion sinks to the ground beside him and gently brushes his fingers against the lump rising out of Lexaeus' skull. Roxas coughs, swiping tears from his watering eyes as he scans his surroundings.

Dust, ash, and the sharp tang of singed grass and wood lie heavy in the air. Some men on the front side of the hill scream in pain. Others yell for medical aid and grappling hooks. Men cry out in behind them too, as Terra yanks arrows out of dead soldiers and send them flying into the neck, forehead, or eye sockets of loyal members still alive.

"Move!" Leon screams.

Roxas pushes to his feet, but quickly worries that escape may not be so simple. He is dizzy, and it's not the slightly wobbly kind, but the kind that sends the trees swopping around you and causes the earth to move under your feet.

Roxas takes a few steps and somehow winds up on his hands and knees. He waits a few minutes to let it pass, but it doesn't. Panic begins to set it. He can't stay here. Flight is essential, but he can neither walk nor hear. Roxas places a hand on his right ear, the one turned towards the blast, and it comes away bloody. Has he gone deaf from the explosion? The idea terrifies him.

The last two loyal members flee forward towards the wagons and supplies. Holding a handful of arrows, Vanitas take several running leaps forward, drops to his knees, and takes them both down in less than ten seconds.

Roxas looks away before he can see the blood that pours out of their wounds and spreads across the green grass beneath him.

_No blood trails_, Roxas tells himself.

Covering his bloody ear with his hand, Roxas tries to stand once more but he stumbles to his feet despite the ground growing still. The sudden stillness feels just as loud as the explosion. Roxas looks over the group again, searching for injuries. Zexion kneels beside Vanitas, checking to see that he is okay. Xigbar wipes at a cut on his forehead but otherwise seems unharmed. Luxord rubs his left thigh and winces as he stands. Terra wraps an arm around Lexaeus' shoulder and helps him to his feet. Lexaeus sees Roxas and smiles a little.

It takes everything Roxas has to smile back.

Axel reaches Roxas side and crouches down. "Are you okay?" his hands are stained with the blood of the loyal guild members he killed and Roxas pushes himself to his knees before Axel decides to touch him.

"Roxas are you okay?" he asks again, and a hard little shudder words its way down Roxas' spine.

The man who made Roxas into a living weapon, who tortured his own son so mercilessly, and who forced Roxas to brutally murder his only true friend in the world is just on the other side of the hill with an minimal army of cloaked thieves and assassins who are apparently willing to die for him. They've blown up the old campsite and are dealing with injuries that could slow them down, and it's at least three miles until the next kingdom or town. And Roxas gave up his chance to destroy Cloud because he couldn't bear to let Vanitas be caught in the crossfire.

But Axel doesn't need to hear that.

Roxas has an injured group of survivors to protect from a danger that is suddenly all too real. He has decisions to make, arguments to win, and problems to solve. But he can at least give Axel one less thing to worry about.

Ignoring the voice inside his head that whispers he's only protecting Axel so that he can protect himself from talking about things he doesn't want to face, Roxas forces a weak, reassuring smile. "I'm fine."

The lie leaves a bitter taste in Roxas' mouth as they pull themselves to their feet and check to see that the rest of their group survived the blast. Roxas casts one more glance over his shoulder at the pile of dirt, clay and grass that seals off their old campground.

He really wasn't expecting the explosion rigging, his assumptions for their creator going to Zexion, but he can't say he wasn't grateful. Just outside that pile of earth, the object of his hatred is still breathing. Still living. Sill waiting for the vengeance Roxas promised Ventus when he held him in his arms.

"How long until they can breach it?" Axel asks.

"With their tools and skills? We're good for at least three days, but we should still haul ass." Cid examines.

"Let's move." Terra calls.

As Roxas takes a step forward, his leg suddenly gives out and he falls into Axel's arms. Axel catches him, gripping Roxas tightly around his back. "Roxas?" he says. The adrenaline that had powered him through the battles is gone, and now his ear stings sharply with the pulse of his heart. While he hate to, Roxas has no choice but to grip onto Axel with his bloody hand that has been covering his ear.

"He's wounded! Get help!" Axel orders.

"I'm fine, Axel." Roxas denies. "The others . . ."

The next time Roxas blinks, Zexion is there in front of him and with one look at Roxas' face, Zexion orders Axel to take him to the infirmary.

"Worry about me when we get somewhere safe." Roxas argues, his tone comes across as grumbling instead of a stern tone.

"Then we'd better hurry." Zexion says.

Zexion does emergency healing magic on people to hold them until they are far enough away from Cloud and his men.

Axel scoops Roxas up and begins to jog forward while some of the more critically injured men rest on the wheelbarrow set with the bedrolls and tents. Not long after, the movement brings back vertigo feelings of the explosion, and Roxas ends up puking on Axel's tunic. It's hard to tell because he's huffing for breath, but Roxas is pretty sure he sighs.

Roxas wants to take off his vest since he's got a fair amount of blood on it, but it's too cold to think about it.

As they run, the icy silence within Roxas presses close as he imagines Cloud slowly bleeding to death at his feet. Holding that thought, Roxas tries to ignore the way Vanitas' eyes follow him and Axel as they go.


	5. Chapter 4

Roxas must've passed out during the flee, because when Roxas opens his eyes, he's warm and patched up inside his tent. Axel is there, changed in a grey long-sleeve tunic in replacement of the white one Roxas ruined with his vomit. He sits next to Roxas' bed roll, holding a book in his lap until he looks up and gives a small smile.

Setting the book aside, he crawls over to Roxas' bedroll. "Hey, how do you feel?" He strokes Roxas' hair and Roxas closes his eyes and can't help the small smile that spreads his lips.

"A little beat up but all right." Roxas says. "Think it'd be a bad idea if I sat up?"

"No, here I'll help you."

Axel grips Roxas' shoulder with one hand and holds Roxas' head steady with the other as Roxas pushes himself up. Pain rushes through his body in sharp bursts, but he tries to ignore it, stifling a groan.

Set next to Roxas' bedroll, placed on a rag is a piece of shrapnel they removed from Roxas' leg. Zexion was more concerned with the damage to Roxas shoulder since it still is bruising, making it more susceptible to injury quicker. Roxas tentatively lifts his hand ruffles his hair when he freezes. Apprehensively Roxas ruffles the hair by his right ear. No, it's not an illusion. He can hear again.

"I can hear." Roxas breathes in shock.

Axel chuckles as he tickles behind Roxas ear. Roxas twitches but smiles. "Yeah, Zexion said it wasn't as bad as it looked."

"How far did we get?" Roxas asks.

"According to Vanitas' tracking, we're not too far from the Agrabah." Axel confirms.

"Agrabah? Well, at least here it's warmer there than other towns." Roxas says. "How is everyone?"

"Everyone's fine." Axel smiles. "Minor scrapes and bruises, but best of all, no casualties."

"That's good." Roxas' stomach growls, and he peer down with his cheeks growing warm.

"Let me get you something to eat."

"You sure you want to be around me when I have food?" Roxas teases as he reminds Axel of the accidental convulsion on his tunic.

Shaking his head, Axel smiles. "It's fine. It was an accident. Besides I didn't like that tunic anyway. Pit stains and it had lost it color. It was old."

"In a matter of days another shirt is going to fall victim soon." Roxas smiles.

"Like you're one to lecture me on hygiene. You're no cleaner than I am. Heck, maybe alone the way we can take a bath together." Axel says, and when Roxas' cheeks grow warm, he kisses Roxas' head before exiting the tent.

Roxas had slept through the late afternoon and night, and he is starving. His breakfast is disapprovingly small. Just a few cubes of an apple, and a small bowl of stew most likely cooked up by Demyx as Roxas can smell small bits of fish in the broth. It's only after the nausea that hit a couple minutes after his meal does Roxas assess just how bad he may be injured. There's an ache in his head and his leg, along with soreness from the bruises. His shoulder bears pain both old and new from where his father's arrow had pierced it, and now black and blue buries adorn over it like a veil of tenderness.

Bending his knees, Roxas can hear the pop of his muscles and joints, then stretches them out until the pain subsides enough that he feels in better control. Alone in the tent while Axel tends to his chore of the day, Roxas rummages through their burlap sack of supplies and decides to write down all the known guilds along with their colors just so that he can educate the rebels about it later when the time comes. He fishes out a leather journal of Axel's with a simple leather string to tie it shut.

He props up his pillow and folds his legs in, setting the journal in his lap. Knowing all too well about the privacy, Roxas flips to the very back of the book and rips out a page, then using the hard surface of the journal to write.

Shadow: Black

Serpents: Dark Green

Sharks: Dark Blue

Wolves: Dark Brown

Lions: Maroon

Spiders: Grey

Hawks: Dark Purple.

As he scribbles down onto the paper, Roxas can't help but chuckle softly at the remembrance at how when he was so little, he could barely tell apart the colors of the guilds other than his owns it was suitable. Shadow guild, shadows are dark and black. His father – former father – had warned him about how disrespectful it will be should they have meeting with the leaders and he didn't know their colors. Each guild holds the pride that their reputation is well-known enough that the mere sight of the color of their cloaks will instill fear in those they encounter. But at least Roxas was young enough that his mistakes were excused by most. He would say that the guild members were his family, but there no one can trust another. And yet . . .

The pencil pauses for a moment a Roxas drifts into his memory of his minuscule childhood. Thinking back, there were those who can qualify as family. Lexaeus is the first to come to mind. He had tutored Roxas through most of his training sessions and even showed him brief flashes of compassion and something that can come close to friendship . . . or that is friendship. Roxas always argued with himself that he was loser to Lexaeus than Cloud since he had spent more time with Lexaeus since he was a child barely able to swing a blade. Sure his father would intervene and they would go on private sessions together, but really it was Lexaeus who pretty much Roxas' version of a nanny.

Back then Roxas always dismissed it as his father being so busy rallying the guilds together and maintaining his charge over them, and it wasn't a lie, but . . .

It's like he just dumped Roxas as well as all of the responsibility of caring for him onto Lexaeus and the other members. Leave them to practically raise him while he went off and did his own business. Even back then it's almost a veiled way of Cloud saying he didn't have time for Roxas, and those private sessions together were just ways of eluding Roxas of his missed time.

Then there's Terra, whose true colors didn't show until Roxas was already doubting his father and his priorities. Back in Twilight Town, when the crew had returned to the mansion and taken prisoner, it was after Roxas had killed Ventus and had been tortured through a series of horrid hallucinations did Terra approach Roxas saying there was something that needed his attention in the infirmary. Upon entering, Roxas had found Vanitas in the hospital bed with a collar around his neck, unconscious. When given the gentlest touch by Roxas, Vanitas' eyes opened and he cowered in fear, which emanated in a raspy gasp for breath and he started to claw at the collar. Terra of which calmed him down and explained everything to Roxas and Vanitas. He then helped Roxas organize an escape and who had brought with him two more of the guildmasters.

Ever since then, he's been nothing but fatherly towards Roxas; which is one of the main reasons as to why most of the guild members had sided with Roxas. They had watched Roxas for so many years being morphed into the ultimate weapon and killer, destined to be cold and ruthless and feared more by the villagers that Cloud himself. Lexaeus had mentioned that it's the reason why Cloud had 'lost his charm' over the years, as he had denied Roxas a childhood and friends and his own love.

While it should be that Roxas should seem annoyed that they feel the need to father him, Roxas actually finds it refreshing. For so many years he had observed other boys of other families and learned himself of which makes a good father and what doesn't. They say it's a man who works hard, who provides for his family and who protect his children. Two out of the three isn't bad, but with the guild life, it's inadequate. Never having his proper role model, perhaps through Terra and Lexaeus, maybe even Leon, Roxas can have a form of a "proper role model."

The flap to his tent opens and in steps Vanitas. "Hey," he smiles.

"Hey." Roxas replies.

Vanitas sits next to Roxas and crosses his legs. "What are you doing?"

"Just writing down all of the guilds and their colors." Roxas answers as Vanitas scoots closer, resting his chin on Roxas' shoulder. Roxas can't help but smile as he finishes writing down the Faceless onto the page. If they happen to find them, their color would at least be worth documenting since they could be under their protection for the next few weeks; if they're even allowed to stay that long.

"How you feeling?" Vanitas asks.

"Better. A little beat up, but I'll survive." Roxas answers.

"Can you walk?"

"I haven't tried yet. But Axel said nothing's broken, just badly bruised."

"You want to go hunting?" Vanitas asks out of nowhere.

Roxas is careful as he turn his head, with Vanitas' face being near inches from his, a simple quick jerk and their lips could connect. He looks to Vanitas who only waggles his eyebrows. Unable to fight the smile, Roxas chuckles and sets aside the journal. Vanitas stands in front of him and holds out his hands. He hoists Roxas to his feet, and after a few seconds, Roxas manages to stand still and stretch his legs. He follows Vanitas outside the tent and into the campsite.

Their campsite is now settled against a soft swell of land covered in tall grass already gone to seed. Beyond the hill, the broken remains of an old road winding through the grass and disappear for yards at a time. On the other side of the road, a copse of trees stretches as far as Roxas can see.

The men wander about tending to their chores of chopping firewood, cooking some minimal stew, men walking around patrolling the area. As Vanitas goes to fetch their arrows and daggers, Roxas wanders over to the firepit, receiving a greeting from Xigbar and Xaldin.

"Well, look who decided to join the living." Xigbar smiles.

"It's bittersweet. But I'm glad to see you're both unharmed." Roxas says. He would sit down, but Vanitas is already returning with two full sheaths of arrows and two bows.

"I must admit that it is rather strange to hear such words from you, Master Roxas." Xaldin admits.

"Please, do not call me master." Roxas says. "I'm not suitable for such a name of power. Not anymore."

"You still hold the title, Roxas, just in your own for of reputation." Xaldin advises. "You have your own rule of power."

"Perhaps, but it is nothing if I have no subjects. Nor if I have a madman after me." Roxas replies.

"You'll do fine, Roxas." Xaldin promises

Vanitas hands Roxas the bow and arrow before he can reply. Not that he had a valid answer anyway. He just wanted to tell Xaldin that he is wrong since Roxas doesn't even have faith in himself. But the last he wants to do it tell his own men not to have faith in their own leader. It would indicate that Roxas has already given up on their survival, and then he'd really have a panicked group of people.

Roxas shrugs on the sheath of arrows and takes the bow from Vanitas. "We're heading out, you guys want anything?"

"Just make sure not to get any more fish. I'm growing tired of that ratchet fish stew Demyx makes." Xigbar complains.

"Aw come on Xigbar, he works hard for that stew." Roxas bumps Xigbar's shoulder with his fist.

"Not hard enough."

"Enjoy it while you can. The lakes will be frozen over soon." Roxas reminds.

"I'll live." Xigbar grumbles.

"Roxas," Vanitas takes Roxas' hand. "Let's go."

"Roxas!" another voice calls.

Roxas immediately digs his heels into the dirt to stop and looks over to find Axel approaching them, wiping his hands with a dirtied rag. Roxas pulls away from Vanitas' hold and approaches Axel.

"Where're you off to?" Axel asks.

"We're going hunting for dinner. You want anything specific?" Roxas asks.

"Just make it back before nightfall." Axel says. Roxas watches as his eyes flicker to Vanitas behind him for the quickest millisecond.

"We will." Roxas promises.

Before Roxas has time to react, Axel steps forward and takes Roxas' chin and kisses Roxas in front of everyone. Roxas' eyes widen but they quickly close and he automatically inhales Axel's scent: something of a crisp autumn morning and the smell of bonfire smoke.

"Okay, okay!" Demyx's voice rings out.

They break away as they see Demyx approaching with an armful of timber. A funny look of played disgust on his face.

"What you guys do behind your tent flap is your business. But flaunting that relationship lovey-dovey is just plain gee-ross!" he says.

Axel and Roxas chuckle, and Axel makes a point at kissing Roxas' forehead before Roxas turns away and goes to join Vanitas who is softly glaring, his expression a mixture of annoyance and jealousy, and impatience. Which one is more prominent is undecided. Vanitas walks close to Roxas' side as they exit the perimeter of the campsite.

The sun is drowning beneath the weight of a purple twilight as they enter the trees, walk twenty yards into the middle of them, their skinny trunks and thin, graceful branches reaching for the heavens as if hoping to scape against the stars, and find what he's looking for.

There's a gathering of trees with bushes based all around its trunk. Bushing the branches aside reveals the inside to be hollow and big enough for them to crawl inside, string an arrow, and wait. Roxas lies on his stomach, twirling his knife between his fingers, Vanitas sitting against the inner wall with the bow ready.

Roxas scours the woods for any signs of movement. His body relaxed and his one leg bent to the side, ready to spring forward. With Roxas' eyes focused up front, Vanitas scans his eyes over the boy's toned-muscled body. The leather jacket he has stretches with every breath he takes and Vanitas finds himself examining how it is that Roxas' body had managed to tolerate so much injury but still grow and prosper. Vanitas licks his bottom lip.

Setting down the bow, Vanitas shifts and crawls up to Roxas. As Roxas narrows his eyes, he suddenly stiffens when he feels Vanitas' arms press against his sides.

"Vanitas?"

Vanitas' body gives off a warmth that Roxas can feel lower onto him. Roxas involuntary closes his eyes as he feels Vanitas' lips press against the crown of his head. He feels Vanitas gently braise the side of his face down, and his lips nibble on the top of Roxas' ear.

"Vanitas." Roxas turns his head tugging it free, his tone laced with annoyance. "Stop it." he states.

"Why?" Vanitas whispers, his tone deep and seductive.

"You know." Roxas retorts.

Roxas can feel Vanitas scoff and his body heat slowly retreats, leaving Roxas shivering. Then there's a glimpse of movement. Roxas tenses, hardly daring to breathe. He can hear shifting behind him as Vanitas carefully takes the bow back in his hand. Their patience is rewarded as a creature about the size of a small sheep wanders close, nose to the ground, snuffling.

Vanitas draws in a slow, deep breath, rehearse the steps in his mind, and then whips the bow up. He closes one eye to sight down the center, and releases the arrow. It flies true, striking the side of the animal, and Roxas leaps from the cover as their quarry jerks around and starts to run with faltering steps. Crossing the distance between them in seconds, Roxas yanks his dagger up, leaps onto the animal's back and swings his arm beneath its neck to slice its throat.

It dies instantly, and Roxas wipes his dagger clean on the ground beside it. Retrieving Vanitas' arrow, Roxas cleans that as well and as Vanitas jogs up. Flipping the animal over, they've seen they've caught a boar. A young one by the size of its tusks.

The boys string it up against a tree while they switch weapons and head down to the stream where they're tracing a turkey. Before they leave, Roxas helps Vanitas set a few snare traps to catch some rabbits and hopefully some raccoons.

Along they way, Roxas can't help but smile as he and Vanitas hunt together like they did back then, except their targets were usually humans, but the techniques were the same so Roxas couldn't really see the difference. And in all honesty he still can't.

They stalk together, silent; needing no words to communicate, because in the woods they move as two parts of one being. Anticipating each other's movements, watching each other's backs. The extra moment it takes the animals to place their unfamiliar scent means their death.

It's one of Vanitas' special qualities that he has that Roxas appreciates. If he were here with Axel, all of the game would've been spooked. Given, Axel is still fairly new to hunting, but still sometimes Roxas wonders if he's even trying. They'll be prowling through the trees and Axel always gives off noise that could scares a deer within a ten mile radius. Like he's physically stomping his feet or something on the softest of turfs like pine needles.

The sound of running water draws the boys to the nearby stream. While there, Roxas picks up some cattail plants, saying that the flower head holds a form of soft stuffing that they can use to improve their pillows as well as weave into some warm gear for the foreboding winter. Also Zexion requested that they keep their eyes out for any plants that may seem useful. Roxas remembers him using part of the cattail root for medicine; or it could've been a potent poison. Whatever the reason, it has a use.

They've come to the top of an outcropping of rocks when Roxas stops and taps at Vanitas, before pointing at a gathering of pheasants down by the water. Roxas looks to Vanitas, who nods and together they quietly hop down the slippery stones, ducking behind a natural wall of them.

Roxas carefully pulls out an arrow and loads it into the bow. He draws back the arrow with a hushed inhale. Seconds of aiming and lining pass by before Roxas releases the arrow.

It whizzes through the air and pierces into the chest . . . of Ventus.

Roxas' eyes widen instantly and his heart jumps to jackrabbit speed.

He gasps heavily as he watches Ventus drop to his knees. His eyes are wide and white with bloodshot crackling towards his pupil, which has shrunk to the size of a pinprick. His mouth hangs open, teeth bared as if screaming, but no sound comes. A small blood spot around where the arrow had pierced spreads like a fast-blooming rose. Roxas watches as it eats away at Ventus' clothing until his entire body is, the blood oozing from his mouth and dribbling along his lips and his skin fades to the color of ash. A jagged black hole burns into the side of his face, and his jaw unhinges.

Roxas ducks back behind the rock wall and immediately begins to hyperventilate. He clutches his chest as his heart pounds and fears he will shift into cardiac arrest.

"Hey, hey, hey." Vanitas says as he reaches out to touch Roxas.

But Roxas smacks away Vanitas' hand. Vanitas looks up and can see Roxas' pupils have shrunk to a small dot in the widespread of his sapphire blue.

"Whoa, whoa, Roxas." He tries again, but Roxas shrieks and stumbles onto the ground and frantically begins to scooch himself back further.

The shouting scares away the turkeys and Roxas' bow stumbles into the stream. All around Roxas the forest trees have turned black. He could make out tiny faces set into the trunks, their mouths open in an O shape, their eyebrows angled down in fearsome scowls.

Vanitas carefully approaches Roxas as he knows that Roxas doesn't see _him_, for the moment. All the while he tries to keep his voice calm and motion gentle gestures towards Roxas.

"It's okay. It's okay, Roxas." Vanitas softly speaks.

Roxas still takes deep breaths, his face pale as he hyperventilates. Thirsty for air to fill his lungs, and despite his long sporadic inhales, he doesn't seem to be making any headway. Vanitas speaks Roxas' name again but he still curves his spine.

"I – Vanitas, I can't -"

Roxas then scrambles until his back bounces against the rock wall and coils his arms around his knees. With his chin almost touching his chest as he starts to rocks himself back and forth, and Vanitas fears Roxas is going to be sick.

Vanitas' knees throb with a dull ache as they hit the rocky shore. Vanitas takes Roxas' face in both his hands so he knows he's not alone. Roxas uncurls slightly and Vanitas is greeted with Roxas' eyes blown wide. The shortness to his breath unnerves Vanitas.

Roxas refrains from wrenching himself away from Vanitas as he can see bugs crawling out of Vanitas' ears and nose and scattering themselves about on his face and neck. A pair of pinchers stab outward of Vanitas' neck, skin and blood arching in the air, and his teeth sharpen like fangs. Vanitas' voice is still the same, and its' the only thing that Roxas has to try and desperately crawl his way up the dark narrowing of his vision to reality.

The unique set of eyes lose focus as Vanitas slips into Roxas' peripherals, and Roxas feels so lost to Vanitas when he positions himself behind Roxas. Vanitas' hands sooth the unnatural arching of his back as Vanitas prepares to move him. Roxas is still crowded into himself until Vanitas softly speaks Roxas' name. Roxas sits up slightly, head tilting back, body seeking another like a flower to the sun. Vanitas takes the opportunity to wedge his forearms under Roxas' armpits. The weight of him is more than Vanitas can cope with, even with the urgency of the situation Vanitas can't haul him back. Vanitas cries in frustration, heels anchoring into the mud and it's seconds later that Roxas exerts his already strained breath to press back into Vanitas. With his heart jackrabbiting in between Roxas' shoulder blades, Vanitas leans against the rocks to support their forced embrace. Roxas sits within the "V" of Vanitas' outstretched legs.

"You're safe. You're safe with me." Vanitas speaks in calming reassurance. "You're going to be okay. Try and breathe with me."

Vanitas purposely exaggerate the movement of his chest so Roxas can feel the motion beneath him. But Roxas isn't listening. His body shakes as Vanitas crosses his arms around Roxas' front. Roxas' sobs are deprived of emotion because instinct has commandeered, hammering out any other thoughts other than those of human survival and the pursuit of oxygen.

"Shhhh," Vanitas coos, he tries to stroke Roxas' hair, and he can feel Roxas' forehead is moist with sweat.

Roxas' head rests back on Vanitas' shoulder as Vanitas tries to keep Roxas' bangs off of his forehead. Roxas' chest fights against the firm press of Vanitas' right arm whilst Vanitas' left hand ruins trails through his hair. Vanitas remembers that Roxas had found it of comfort before, a sure way of guaranteeing his relaxation to help him sleep. But it seems Roxas is far beyond that now. Vanitas jolts in surprise as an overly hot palm clutches at the material on his forearm, the other yanking at the neck of his tunic until Vanitas offers Roxas a hand to hold. The bond they create lies over his chest in a tangle of haphazard limbs, sweaty palms and bruising impressions of fingertips.

"I've got you, babe." Vanitas whispers into Roxas' ear.

Vanitas feels the pressure of Roxas' back press further into his chest, but he's still shaking.

The longest four minutes of his life span out at the astounding display of Roxas' chest and lungs gradually slows to someone partaking in a brisk walk. Vanitas feels like he's run a marathon with a pack of wolves on his tail in the blistering heat of summer. Vanitas' exhaustion is evident so he has no idea what Roxas is experiencing. He gently rocks Roxas as his pulse slows beneath Vanitas' critical observation. Roxas is treated to kind whispered promises of his ensured safety and how Vanitas will hold him for as long as Roxas needs him to.

Vanitas is convinced he's ushered Roxas to sleep when he hears Roxas drag a ragged breath and mumble something on the exhale. "I'm sorry." he weeps.

Vanitas softly shushes him. "It's fine. You're fine." he assures still stroking Roxas' head.

He leans out to peek at Roxas and finds the boy with his head turned in his direction. Vanitas watches as Roxas' pupils dilate back and forth with every odd breath. He blinks rapidly before turning his head forward again and leaning back into Vanitas' chest.

"Do you want to head back to the camp?"

Even with the thought of Axel sitting up late, waiting for Roxas to walk through the tent with a rabbit in hand, Roxas can't bring himself to move from his cocoon of Vanitas. Besides, Roxas doesn't think he can walk, as he feels nauseated.

"They can wait." he decides.


	6. Chapter 5

When Vanitas offers to clean the game, Roxas doesn't object.

Vanitas had fetched Roxas' bow from the river and led him towards a pond that must be fed by an underground spring, since the water's cool and sweet. He filled his canteen and handed it to Roxas, letting him take sip by sip, but the bitter taste pervading his mouth still wouldn't relent.

Roxas sits cross-legged on a rock, clasping the canteen between his wrists. He sticks a few mint leaves on his tongue, letting the remnants of evening sun warm his skin, almost at peace.

Then Vanitas' voice interrupts him. "Are you feeling better?"

Roxas looks to Vanitas with a blank stare, as if he's trying to focus on something else before he can answer. He looks away when he answers. "I don't know."

"Well you're breathing's calm." Vanitas says. Roxas doesn't even spare him a look. Vanitas isn't worried about Roxas acting different despite that Vanitas has seen Roxas at his lowest. He's more worried about the episode itself, as if Roxas.

"Why does this keep happening?" Roxas says and Vanitas looks up to find Roxas still staring out at the river and the other half of the forest beyond. "I thought it was just nightmares, but it's like everywhere I look I see something that isn't there!"

Roxas takes a reasonable size stone and chucks into the water where it lands at the center with a heavy _thunk_. The ripples expand out stretching to reach each sides of the river, but stop when they're halfway out, as they begin to calm.

"Why does his happen? I thought the serum was already out of my system." Roxas says, getting knotted up by his words.

As Vanitas cleans the skin of a rabbit, he bites his lip in nervousness before he stuffs the rabbit into the sack and rises. He makes his way over to Roxas and plonks the game bag behind Roxas' stone seat and sits down next to him on the ground. Roxas doesn't even turn his head, and for a moment, Vanitas just stares at him, as if waiting to see the tears of frustration come out and stream down Roxas' cheeks. But nothing happens; Roxas just continues to glare out at the open water.

"Roxas have you ever heard of Post Trauma?" Vanitas suddenly asks.

This causes Roxas to turn his attention to Vanitas. "What?"

"Post Trauma. Or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder." Vanitas explains.

"That almost sounds too complicated." Roxas says.

Vanitas chuckles and leans back on his hands. "Well it's something that Zexion delved into after the discovery of your father's syndrome. It's a form of anxiety disorder. Going over to the notes that Zexion had collected from the library, it says that the disorder may develop after a person is exposed to one or more traumatic events such as warfare, serious injuries, or threats of imminent death."

"That doesn't make much since I was exposed to so much blood and murder all my life. I've stared death in the face nearly every day that it is by the grace of the gods I still have my sanity." Roxas says.

"The only reason being why is because you considered that normal. Your brain thought it was a part of your life, which I was. So it probably wasn't until the death of Ventus that it started to develop."

At the mention of Ventus, the nodule of fear within Roxas explodes. He can't deny that Ventus' death had an effect on him, but he had always assumed it was when he had felt so hollowed out and detached from himself that the icy silence that pulsates within him had taken control of the grief. Roxas assumed he had taken the grief and anguish and turned it into something he can use to keep him going through the next day. Is that he hasn't grieved properly? And yet he was told everyone deals with grief in different ways, what is so wrong with his?

"The diagnosis may be given when a group of symptoms, such as disturbing reoccurring flashbacks, avoidance or numbing of memories of the event, and hyperarousal, continue for more than a month after the occurrence or traumatic event." Vanitas continues.

A numbing feeling prickles it way through Roxas' body, making him grow cold.

"So you're saying there's something wrong with me?" Roxas snaps.

Vanitas stares at him, his eyebrows narrow, but he still speaks with a calm voice laced with determination. "Maybe."

"What's that mean?"

"We're still watching you." Vanitas says.

"You've what -?!"

"Listen," Vanitas stops Roxas before he can get mad. "Most individuals with this disorder persistently avoid all thoughts and emotions, and discussion of the stressor event. When was the last time you've talked about Ventus' death?"

_Not since it happened_, Roxas thinks. His throat tightens. A part of him wants to tell Vanitas the truth, another part wants to lie. Truth so that he can finally release the guilt and grief he's been harboring since they fled the city, and finally be able to consolidate in it with accepted tears and ragged breathing. But he can't feel the grief yet. Not yet. Not until his father is dead and he has avenged Ventus and all the grief his father has wrought. But would vengeance be enough? Then there's the part of Vanitas that wants to lie because Roxas wants to dismiss the subject as quickly as he can before the images and feelings come barreling on him, stabbing at his skin like multiple sewing needles. But that's exactly what Vanitas is talking about, and even as Roxas thinks, Vanitas is watching him; waiting for his answer so that he can analyze Roxas like a form of test subject. Either way Roxas answers, it could b wrong, and Vanitas is smarter than to just believe whatever Roxas says. He'll see through the lie. The fact alone that he's been watching Roxas reflects him back to his days in the guild. All this time Roxas thought he could finally let his guard down and not have to worry about eyes being on him; but then Vanitas comes out with this and suddenly it's as if he has betrayed Roxas and his sense of security. It makes Roxas upset in a way that doesn't normally happen.

"Never." Roxas honestly answers.

"Precisely my point." Vanitas says.

Roxas snaps. He spring up from his seat. "Don't pretend you don't know m so suddenly Vanitas! You don't know _anything_!"

"I'm not saying I do." He replies in a calm voice that makes Roxas want to scream until he loses his voice. "It's all just an assumption. And you can't deny that you have been different. Changed."

Roxas' throat is dry, and it feels like he's been given bad news, but he still hasn't entirely grasped what that bad news is. "So what else is there."

"Well no matter how much the individual denies the event, he himself relives the experience through intrusive, recurrent recollections, flashbacks . . . and nightmares." Vanitas explains. "In your case, you may be experiencing "survivor's guilt" which is where you obviously feel guilt for remaining alive while others have died. And causes of the symptoms are experiencing or witnessing of a stressor event involving death, serious injury or such threat to the self or others in a situation in which you feel intense fear, horror, or powerless."

Roxas processes the information slowly, piece by piece. He suddenly wants to run away from Vanitas and his assumptions. They feel more like accusations based off sleepless nights and hallucinations. Roxas just assumed it was just romance of the venom or serum in his system, but honestly but now, they would've worked their way out of his system by now. Is it there's something wrong with his brain and he can never totally heal that scares him? Or is it because he's afraid of something being wrong with him? He's survived the guild, the wrath of his father and escaped a fire. He has plenty of impressive scars to bear, but could all of that have been the cause of it?

"So how do I get rid of it? Throw a proper funeral for Ventus? Break down in tears and cry over him?" Roxas says, his voice is sharp as a blade.

"I don't have any easy answers, Roxas. But the one thing that needs to be clear is that if what we're seeing is true, then you are, damaged in a way. This type of disorder can't just go away. It can be managed, but it's not like some other disease like the common cold."

The word "disorder" sinks inside Roxas like it's made of lead. In a way, Roxas always knew something felt off about him since he had fled the city, but he thought it was because of his father, and the pain he bequeathed to Roxas like a family heirloom, handed down from one generation to the next.

Roxas almost wants to laugh. His father had always wanted him pure, but now it would seem that he tainted his own heir with blood spillage he thought would purify him like some type of holy water.

The only reason why Roxas hasn't coped or grieved in matters of Ventus' death is because if he does, if h dares to feel it, it will break. And both him and Cloud know that. And that is why until Cloud is dead with his cowardly heart beneath Roxas' naked blade with Roxas break.

Vanitas says something Roxas doesn't really hear; he's only listening to the thump of his heart. Roxas stands up from his position on the rock, and goes to put the canteen of water, by now it's empty, and stuffs it aggressively into the sack.

"Look, it's nothing you need to be worried about." Vanitas firmly speaks. "Okay?"

"You don't get to tell me it's not a big deal!" Roxas says, louder than he means to be. Loud enough that a flock of nearby sparrows are startled out of their bush before circling down into the one next to it, chirping frantically. "You tell me all this shit that's wrong with me, including how you've been watching me without consent, _and_ that I can never be truly healed, and you expect me to take that with a grain of salt?!"

"No, but I would expect you to not let this one simple diagnostic -"

"Simple?!"

"Yes! Because everything I've told you is just an assumption" Vanitas bites back. "It doesn't mean as much as you thought. It's just a word for a particular change in your brain, like a word for all people with brown eyes or blonde hair. You might not even have it!"

"But you and I both know that my odds are very high right now." Roxas counters. "You think that it means that I'm damaged in a way that others are not."

"Roxas, there is nothing wrong with you." Vanitas defends.

"Then your entire conversation is counterintuitive!"

"I'm just trying to help you!" Vanitas shouts.

"How?! By telling me things that's wrong with me?! So that in know just how "traumatized" I am?!"

"So that you can just understand why these things are happening! You asked why you kept having nightmares, and it's because of this!"

"You're just going off of what Zexion's telling you." Roxas hisses and waves him off as he turns and starts to walk away.

"Well what about your little attack?" Vanitas suddenly stings.

Roxas stops and turns towards him with an expression similar to if Vanitas had slapped him. Which in a way, maybe he did.

"You think you'd be like this if I didn't know what to do? I know how it works, and I know how to stop it."

"So what, you're saying you know me now?" Roxas bitterly replies.

"I know you enough to see how out of character that was. And how you want help, but you don't want to admit it or receive it."

"No one knows me better than me." Roxas states.

"Of course. But did it ever occur to you why I do all of this? Why I'm telling you all of this?"

"Because you think you're helping me better understand what's wrong with me?" Roxas snipes as he ties off the sack.

"Gods, open your eyes Roxas!"Suddenly Roxas feels a grasp on his shoulders and he's hauled to his feet, and swirled around to face Vanitas. "I care about you, Roxas!" Vanitas shouts. "It's because I care!"

Roxas looks wide-eyed at Vanitas, short huffs of breathe escaping his lips. He doesn't say anything, only memorizes the pressure of Vanitas' hands on his shoulders and how close Vanitas is to him.

Vanitas' expression softens, his ember eyes glowing in the darkness as night has taken over the skies. There are not crickets, as they've chirped their last song back in September. So there's only the still silence and the clocking of the water.

"It's because every night when I hear you scream and I can't do anything about it, I hurt." The pressure of his grip lightens. "It's because whenever I see you struggle to carry the weight of a burden that I don't know how to lift, I feel helpless. I want to try and help you, and this is the only way I know how."

Vanitas, whom Roxas hasn't seen cry, his eyes are glistening with tears. "I want to help. I care about you Roxas." He repeats. "I care, so much."

"No one could care about a boy who's damaged." Roxas coldly replies.

"I could." Vanitas steps forward. "I can."

Without realizing it, Roxas steps forward and gathers Vanitas in his arms and Roxas rests his head against Vanitas' chest. He feels Vanitas wraps his arms around him. When he buries his face in Roxas' hair, warmth radiates from the spot where Vanitas' lips just touch his neck. Slowly it spreads through the rest of Roxas. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that Roxas knows he will now be the first to let go.

Vanitas strokes Roxas' hair and Roxas can feel him mumble something against his hair. ". . . and I will."

This puzzles Roxas as Vanitas pulls away, but the moment Vanitas takes Roxas' chin in his hand, his thumb stroking just below Roxas' lower lip, Roxas' heart skips a beat. He lets Vanitas tilt his head up, for the briefest moment wondering what it's like to kiss Vanitas. Would it be soft and slow? Or rough with a lot of firmness? Roxas wants to find out, but just as his lips come close, Roxas lowers his head and turning it to the side. Vanitas' lips brush against his forehead and a small breath brushes his eyelids.

"Vanitas," Roxas chokes. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"Just this once . . ." Vanitas persists.

He brushes his fingertips along Roxas' cheek as he cups his face; Roxas skin tingling with small electric tingle that seems to make his skin hum. With a barbed wire tugging at his chest and the urge and temptation growing more and more difficult to resist, Roxas forces himself to turn away.

Roxas has a lot of responsibility and trouble on his hands right now, and the last thing he wants to add to is it the drama of a piety love triangle. Besides, with Vanitas telling him he might have a form of disorder, he's really not in the best position to try and make a move, even if he feels he's doing it for the greater good of Roxas' being.

Roxas doesn't want to think about it anymore.

"We should get back to camp. Axel's waiting." Roxas says, the mention of Axel's name making his heart ache like someone's grabbing it in a suffocating grip.

He doesn't look at Vanitas. But he hears him suffer and can practically picture the look of disappointment and possible anger on Vanitas' face. His lips fold in and he shakes his head. "Fine."

He sharply turns and goes and snatches up the bows and arrows. Roxas takes the burlap sack and slings it onto his back. Some of the pressure inside Roxas releases as soon as they start walking back to the camp. Neither of them talks on the way, but once they're inside the perimeter of the campsite, Roxas follows Vanitas to his tent before hooking his pointer finger to Vanitas' pinky. "I just wanted to say thank you, for what you did with me back there." He whispers. "I really appreciate it. And I'm sorry I yelled."

"It's fine." Vanitas replies flatly.

"I mean it, seriously." Roxas assures as he tries to angle for Vanitas to see him.

"I know." Vanitas replies. "I'll see you tomorrow."

With a gentle squeeze of the finger in return, Vanitas disappears into his tent. Roxas stands out there for a few more seconds before turning and heading to his own. He pushes aside the flap and finds Axel still awake with the same book from before in his lap. He looks up and gives a small smile, but Roxas can see the underlying upset in his eyes

"Hey, glad you finally made it." he speaks.

"I'm sorry we're back so late." Roxas bluntly says as she shrugs off the game bag, placing it back outside of the tent so it doesn't sink into the fabric of the material.

"May I ask why?" Axel softly speaks.

"I had an episode." Roxas answers as he kneels down in front of Axel.

Axel narrows his eyebrows in concern. "What do you mean? That is if you want to talk about it."

Roxas keeps his gaze on a small black bug crawling along the bedroll, taking a moment together himself. He blinks a few times and immediately his nose sniffles. "We were hunting and," Roxas stops as his voice quakes already. He folds his lips in to suppress a sob, pinching the skin on his wrist as a way to stop himself from crying. ". . . and when I shot a turkey, I thought I saw Ventus. It was a weird moment and I was having a nervous attack, and Vanitas had to calm me down."

"Oh, babe." Axel sets aside the book and reaches out, grasping Roxas shoulder. Roxas crawls to Axel and seems to naturally adjust himself as Axel folds his legs pretzel style and huddles Roxas into his chest. Roxas keeps one arm tucked to his chest, the other fiddling with the collar of Axel's tunic. He can feel Axel's chin on his head and his gentle rocking motions. The urge to cry is gone, and all Roxas can focus on is Axel's warmth and the smell of bonfire smoke permeated into his clothes. "I'm sorry." Axel mumbles.

"It's not your fault."

"I meant for my suspicions."

Roxas swallows and takes a breath that rattles on its way in. "I know you don't trust Vanitas. But he is my friend, and he knows about us."

"I think everyone knows about us." Axel laughs.

"You know what I mean." Roxas says, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly upwards.

"But it seems there's something else bothering you." Axel insists.

"There is." Roxas answers. "Vaintas said that my nightmares and hallucinations are part of some weird, disorder."

"You say the word like it leaves a sour taste in your mouth." Axel snickers.

"It's just not something I want to associate yourself with it." Roxas admits.

"Because it means something's wrong with you?"

Roxas sighs in annoyance. "Don't start a fight."

"I'm not trying to."

"It's just . . . it seems like it's something more serious. And if something is wrong, it just scares me. Not because I want to be perfect. I know I'm not, but it's more like . . . I didn't this kind of thing could happen to me."

"You're worried it might change you?" Axel asks.

"I think it already has."

"No, it hasn't." Axel leans back and brushes a few bangs out of Roxas' face. "You're the same person you were two hours ago and two months ago and nineteen years ago. This doesn't change anything about you."

Roxas can hear something in Axel's words that's right, but it's hard to believe him right now.

"So you're telling me this affects nothing," Roxas says. "The truth affects nothing."

"What truth?" Axel breathes. He rubs Roxas' back in circular motions. "Vanitas tells you there's something wrong with you and you just believe him?"

"He explained all the facts, and I matched them; nearly perfectly." Roxas says. He pinches the aglet of a string on Axel's tunic and picks at it with his fingers. "It explained the nightmares."

"It doesn't explain you, though." Axel says fiercely, his hand closing around Roxas'. "And I know who you are."

Roxas shakes his head. "You don't know anything about me."

"No, I don't. I only know what you tell me. Or what I can figure out." Axel replies. "And I don't want to push you further than what you're comfortable with."

Axel touches Roxas' face, his thumb skimming his cheekbone, and his eyes are on Roxas' intense and insistent. It feels wrong just to have Axel touch the same skin Vanitas did, as if it adds another layer to it or it brushes away the feeling, replacing it with his own.

"It worries me . . . being classified as "damaged" or "disordered". And not for the reasons you'd normally think." Roxas says. "I guess it's just, I always think that no one could ever love someone who's damaged."

"So you're afraid no one will love you." Axel summarizes, and he can feel Roxas nod against his chest. "You're being silly. Look at me," Roxas tilts his head up. He can feel Axel's callus fingertips brush against his cheek again. "I will always love you. I've told you this before, remember?"

"I do."

"And even if you go crazy and start shouting at trees to get off the cat that's actually a stone," Roxas smacks his chest, but they both laugh. "I will still love you. We can be psychos together."

"Now that sounds like fun." Roxas smiles, feeling so much lighter than he did moments ago.

Roxas tilts his head up and kisses Axel. Axel kisses him back, his lips moving in motions as if he's molding Roxas' lips. A strange sound, a mixture of a moan and sigh croaks at the back of Roxas' throat. Pulling away, Axel kisses Roxas' forehead then dips his head down, nudging Roxas' to the side before he felt Axel's lips press into the skin on his neck. He holds the back of Roxas' head. His large palm on Roxas' lower back, Axel pulls Roxas' body fit with his. The fullness of Axel's lips press into a spot just below Roxas' ear. Roxas' eyes flutter closed and he grips Axel's neck tighter. Roxas releases an unapproved gasp as Axel forces the blonde's hips to his. A deep chuckle vibrated in Axel's chest, clearly enjoying the reaction he was drawing from Roxas. He lets out an unapproved groan as he feels Axel slip one hand under his loose tunic and spider-crawl its way to his chest. Roxas grips Axel's hair with one hand while the other gripped his shoulder, leaning his head back as Axel kisses up the front of Roxas' neck. Roxas pulls back and fits his mouth to Axel's, sighing his name against Axel's mouth.

Roxas forgets he is another person; instead it feels like Axel is another part of him, just as essential as a heart or an eye or an arm. Roxas runs his hands over the exposed skin of Axel's neck, wanting so badly to expose more of Axel's muscular torso.

"You know what's disappointing?" Axel mumbles into Roxas' neck. Roxas groans in reply, somehow losing his ability to form words. "You never brought back that fish you promised."

Roxas bursts into laughter as playfully slaps Axel and Axel retaliates by rolling them both over, causing Roxas to yelp; but the laughter still escapes his lips. With Roxas on his back, smiling and laughing, Axel can't help but smile and feel proud at how he can make the boy smile. The gesture making him feel like the richest man in the world.

Axel rolls to the side and onto his own bedroll of which he's scooted closer to Roxas'. Roxas rolls to face Axel and the two talk to one another, trying to keep the other quiet for the next three hours.

Finally at around one-thirty in the morning, Roxas has fallen asleep; his head resting on Axel's arm. Using his free one, he pulls Roxas across the furry bedroll so he is right up against Axel, warm and soft and pliable. Roxas' eyes closed and relaxed, Axel kisses his cheek, then his jaw, then Roxas' throat, lingering there for a few seconds. He feels Roxas curl into him before almost immediately relaxing. Even in sleep he has grown familiar to Axel's touch.

The last thing Axel remembers doing before drifting off, is taking Roxas' left hand, fiddling with his fingers and interlocking it with his own . . . and constantly stroking the ring finger.


	7. Chapter 6

The first he sees when he wakes, still in their tent, is the fire entrapped in the curvatures of the heart on his chest. Axel reaches out his hand and touches his fingertips to Roxas' tattoo, and Roxas opens his eyes.

"Morning." Roxas smiles.

"Shh," Axel says. "If you don't acknowledge it, maybe it will go away."

"Well I'd hate to say this, but . . . I think we have just a few things to do today."

"They can wait." Axel says against Roxas' shoulder, and he kisses the top of the heart, slowly.

"No they can't!" Roxas says.

Axel flops back onto his bedroll, and he feels cold without Roxas' body parallel to his. Roxas sits up and puts his fingers through his hair to comb it out. In the morning light its color looks brighter, like it's threaded with gold.

Adjusting his wrinkled tunic, Roxas stretches out long and yawns. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. As Axel ruffles his hair and loudly yawns, Roxas pulls on his leather boots and tries to flatten out the wrinkled sleeves of his grey tunic.

He steps out of the tent as he zips up his leather jacket to his neck. Almost all of the camp is cleanly packed up and set up on the backs of others and a few of the wheelbarrows salvaged from the town. A small group of men have already scouted ahead towards Agrabah to rip down any posters that could be spread across the village. Roxas feels a little discouraged since Agrabah is the one of the ten largest cities in the world.

Demyx is stomping out the fire as Roxas wanders over to Luxord and Lexaeus who have saved a few food servings for Roxas.

"Good morning sir." Lexaeus greets as he hands Roxas half a loaf of bread.

"Morning. How far out are we?" Roxas asks as he accepts the bread with a smile.

"Only thirty yards. We got report back that the posters are taken down, and now the men are just wandering the marketplace." Lexaeus informs.

"Or exploring the whore houses." Roxas amuses.

Lexaeus chuckles. "A man will be a man."

"Once a king always a king, but once a knight is enough." Roxas says, erupting laughter from all the men.

A hard pat on the back makes Roxas grunt in pain from his shoulder. Behind him he can hear Luxrod's laugh. "Oh kid, you're on your way!"

"Roxas!" Axel calls. Roxas looks to find Axel waiting by the threshold of the camp with grey sweater over his black tunic. He waves and Roxas jogs over. "Ready to head into town?"

Roxas looks ahead and can see the walls of Agrabah. The forest trail twists and turns towards the gates. The dried waist-high yellow grass stops abruptly at a fifty-yard wide perimeter where it reduces to dirt with small patches of grass scattered about. Then, immense walls molded by tons of clay as thick as twelve men standing shoulder to shoulder wraps around the city. Every one hundred twenty yards, a turret rises with a domed top accompanied by a finial for elegance. Guards assigned to the wall spend most of their shift in their assigned turrets.

"I don't know." Roxas timidly answers.

"Roxas, I'm sure it's safe."

"Nowhere is safe for me."

"Just try and enjoy _something_ with me. Please." Axel pleads with a puppy-dog look and a sly smile on his lips. "Besides, we're finally near a town and we can get some new clothes."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Roxas asks as he examines his own clothes.

"Well for one, we haven't done laundry yet," Axel reminds. "And just so you have something more than what you have."

True, Roxas hasn't changed clothes since he had fled Twilight Town, and they do still reek of smoke and blood. Roxas' jacket is wrinkled with smears of singed dirt and lingers the smell of sweat. His boots are practically worn through as the leather is starting to peel back from the toes and the soles are flattened so much he can feel almost every pebble beneath his feet like he's barefoot.

"I suppose it won't be so bad." Roxas complies.

Axel smiles and takes Roxas' hands, his fingers sliding between Axel's. The gates are tall and intimidating but they're open wide and people flow in and out carrying wicker baskets and clay jars intricately designed in designs of flowers. The first thing that draws Roxas attention is the grandness of the place and looms over the entire city in its shadow.

The palace is the central focus of the entire complex of the Agrabah. This large, white marble structure stands on a square plinth and consists of a symmetrical building with arch-shaped doorway topped by a large dome and finial.

The base structure is essentially a large, multi-chambered cube with chamfered corners, forming an unequal octagon on each of the four long sides. On each of these sides, a huge pishtaq, or vaulted archway, frames the iwan with two similarly shaped, arched balconies stacked on either side. This motif of stacked pishtaqs is replicated on the chamfered corner areas, making the design completely symmetrical on all sides of the building. Four minarets frame the palace, one at each corner of the plinth facing the chamfered corners.

The marble dome that surmounts the palace towers is the most spectacular feature. Its height is about the same as the length of the base, and is accentuated as it sits on a cylindrical "drum". Because of its shape, the dome is often called an onion dome. The top is decorated with a lotus design, which also serves to accentuate its height. The shape of the dome is emphasized by four smaller domed kiosks placed at its corners, which replicate the onion shape of the main dome. Their columned bases open through the roof of the tomb and provide light to the interior. Tall decorative spires extend from edges of base walls, and provide visual emphasis to the height of the dome. The lotus motif is repeated on both the chattris and guldastas. The dome and chattris are topped by a gilded finial, which mixes traditional Persian and Hindustani decorative elements.

The minarets, which are each more than 130 feet tall, display the designer's penchant for symmetry. They were designed as working minarets—a traditional element of mosques. Each minaret is effectively divided into three equal parts by two working balconies that ring the tower. At the top of the tower is a final balcony surmounted by a chattri that mirrors the design of those on the palace. The chattris all share the same decorative elements of a lotus design topped by a gilded finial. On the lower walls of the tomb there are white marble dados that have been sculpted with realistic bas relief depictions of flowers and vines. The marble has been polished to emphasise the exquisite detailing of the carvings and the dado frames and archway spandrels have been decorated with pietra dura inlays of highly stylised, almost geometric vines, flowers and fruits. The inlay stones are of yellow marble, jasper and jade, polished and levelled to the surface of the walls.

As Roxas and Axel walk hand-in-hand towards the central road leading through the marketplace, he gazes at the buildings designs and structure. They are designed not like any other buildings Roxas has seen. Agrabah is one of the few places he traveled to since it was far out of Cloud's range and not known to have any guilds; arguably making one of the few safer places.

Each home seems stacked on one another, make mostly out of red sandstone with wooden beams connecting the rooftops, and windows that seem literally carved out of the sides with simple window paneling. As the surface area changes the decorations are refined proportionally. The decorative elements were created by applying paint, stucco, stone inlays, or carvings. The decorative elements can be grouped into either calligraphy, abstract forms or vegetative motifs. Much of the calligraphy is composed of florid thuluth script, made of jasper or black marble, inlaid in white marble panels. Higher panels are written in slightly larger script to reduce the skewing effect when viewed from below. The calligraphy found on the marble cenotaphs in the tomb is particularly detailed and delicate.

The onion domes seem to be dotted across spots on the kingdom, acting as guard towers, which brings Roxas' notice to how the kingdom is divided into districts. Abstract forms are used throughout, especially in the plinth, minarets, gateway, mosque, jawab and, to a lesser extent, on the surfaces of the palace. The domes and vaults of the sandstone buildings are worked with tracery of incised painting to create elaborate geometric forms. Herringbone inlays define the space between many of the adjoining elements. White inlays are used in sandstone buildings, and dark or black inlays on the white marbles. Mortared areas of the marble buildings have been stained or painted in a contrasting color, creating geometric patterns of considerable complexity. Floors and walkways use contrasting tiles or blocks in tessellation patterns.

There's a main road that stretches the whole length all the way up to the palace, then it branches off to side roads leading to resident houses. The sun pokes through the clouds, lighting the very center of the square where a huge fountain stood. Crystal clear water pours from the enormous chalk-colored basin, and the elevated base was surrounded by graceful swans and solemn-faced shrubs.

At the very top of the fountain, a statue of a voluptuous nude woman looked down on them as they passed. She held a swath of fabric that clung to the lower half of her body and appeared to billow out behind her in a suspended arc. Curly-haired cherubs frolicked beneath the basin in a captured moment of abandon. Though the figures might have seemed playful in the daylight, something about the mix of shadows and stark light cast on their small faces through the trees made them appear more mischievous than free-spirited, more impish than gleeful.

The large swans that reveled with them, rearing back with wings outspread, looked somehow frantic.

Blocked by the wide bowl of the basin, the light could not reach the sultry figure of the nude woman who stood at the very top of the fountain, her veil billowing out behind her. She remained swathed in shadow, a silhouette that belonged to the night.

Puddles gouge the gritty road, courtesy of an early-afternoon rain shower. Roxas and Axel pass the butcher, already cleaning his knives and packing away the last of his mutton, and Axel wrinkles his nose in disgust. Most stalls are simple wooden tables with cloths propped up by wooden sticks to provide shade for wares such as fruits and fish, while others are simply used for shade by the shoppers browsing around. Every odd interval is another archway leading to the much poorer districts. Some stalls are so overflown with inventory that they've been set into baskets or crates and placed in front of the stalls.

There are also somewhat unique street performers who like to entertain a crowd by swallowing items that would be considered dangerous and fatal – including fire and fully sharpened swords.

Many stall owners call out their own promo speeches to attract consumers to their stands. "Try this, your taste buds will dance and sing!" "Pretty lady buy a pot. No finer pot in brass ort silver!" "Sugar dates! Sugar date and beans! Sugar dates and pistachios!" "Fresh Fish! We catch 'em, you buy 'em!"

Guards patrol the streets in pairs, and they wear black broad-shouldered vests that cut deep almost to their abdomen with a gold strap going across their chests. A red sash adorns their waist with gold cuffs on their wrists, then they have poofy pants that synch at the ankle and thick slippers with a curled toe. Big poofy hats sit atop their heads with a gold strip leading to a jewel that looks like a ruby.

Roxas keeps his head down as they pass by, looking occupied as he gazes at a stand with jewelry. He and Axel stop and the man immediately breaks out into a reeling memo to ring in customers.

"Come, come! See what I have! I have wares you won't find anywhere else!" he shouts with enthusiasm not only to Axel and Roxas, but to any other potential customer passing by. "Would the young man like a necklace? A pretty necklace for a prestige young man."

"Oh no, I don't think so." Roxas denies with a friendly smile.

"Aw come on, Roxas. There's got to be something that you like." Axel insists. He tugs Roxas closer, their hands still interlocked, and guides him over to a large square box with a velvet cushion holding six rows of rings, with seven rings running lengthwise.

"I don't normally wear jewelry. It . . . clashes with my usual style." Roxas carefully words. Axel peers down and finds Roxas angling his hand so that Axel can see small stains of dried blood on Roxas' hands.

"It doesn't hurt to try something new." Axel says.

"Your red-headed friend has good sense!" the salesman cheers with a smile.

"You haven't seen him on a daily basis." Roxas amuses, and he and the salesman share a laugh, though the man's seems a little to forced and heaved.

"Perhaps I have a ring that would be suitable for a special occasion? An anniversary perhaps?" he leans close to Axel, holding up on hand to shield his mouth as if to talk in secret, but he speaks with a normal tone. "A proposal, perhaps?"

Axel's eyebrows rise and he laughs. Roxas laughs too, a nervous tone laced within it. "Oh no, no, no. I don't feel I'm ready for marriage yet." Roxas says.

"You're ready for everything if it's true love!" he insists.

"We're still trying . . . to figure out our lives right now, so to speak." Roxas says.

"We're traveling a lot, and we'd like to settle down and have a secure foundation before we even think about commitment." Axel rephrases.

"That and I'm too young." Roxas says.

"By how?" the salesman asks.

"I'm only nineteen."

"Oh that's pishy-poshy!" the man waves off. "Our princess got married at the age of _sixteen_!"

Axel and Roxas raise their eyebrows in surprise and look to each other.

"I understand, still not sold. But remember, you won't find other rings at these valuable prices! Only today am I cutting prices by fifty percent!"

Axel and Roxas move on with friendly nods of their heads as they move down to the next stall. Up ahead they find Vanitas with Demyx browsing the wares of a stand holding musical instruments, their main inventory drums and pan flutes.

"Did you really mean that?" Roxas leans, pressing his arm against Axel's.

"What?"

"About settling down. I mean I was afraid I'd have to say something stupid like, we're not really in love or something like that and there'd be a fight." Roxas says.

"Well, I meant what I said about settling down first, since that'll be the very base, thing that we use to start our new lives together."

"Absolutely. Since we'll be on the road, or have been on the road for a while, it'd really be stupid to think of marriage. That and I feel I'm too young." Roxas agrees.

"Yeah, I can't believe their princess already got married." Axel says.

"It is, unique. But it's better than having it arranged." Roxas points out.

"Still, that's just too young."

"Remember, things are different here Axel. Who are we to question their culture?" Roxas warns.

"I suppose."

Demyx giggles with glee as he holds a pan flute in his hands. "This is awesome!" he cheers. "Guys check it out! This," he motions his hand around the instrument to show it off. "is a pan flute!"

"Nice." Axel nods.

"You've never seen one before?" Roxas asks.

"You _have_?"

Roxas shrugs. "Just collectables the other guild members would bring back. I think one of them had something like this."

"You'd think he'd stop at just string instruments, but no. He claims he wants to "broaden his horizons." Vanitas groans with his fingers quoting, hooking the air like talons.

"I'm so excited to play it!" Demyx squeaks as he clutches the instrument to his chest.

Axel looks back over to the stalls they had passed and leans into Roxas. "Hey, I'll be right back." he whispers.

"Where are you going?" Roxas asks.

"I thought I saw something back there that I wanted. A new holster or knife."

"Oh, okay. Should we meet back somewhere?" Roxas says, his fingers tightening before Axel steps out of reach.

"There's an inn we can go to. That's where most of the other men went." Demyx says. "It's directly left of the fountain in the Square."

"That works." Axel says. He takes a long stride towards Roxas, placing a kiss on his lips before he can protest. "I'll meet you there."

"But -" Roxas starts, but Axel is already out of range and out of reach. He groans. "Why do I feel slightly nauseated?"

"Because you hate surprises." Vanitas states. He places a hand on Roxas' shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sure it's fine."

Roxas is about to reply, when an ear-piercing screech deafens their ears. Both boys yelp in pain and cover their ears. Opening one eye, Roxas looks to find Demyx blowing into the pan flute.

"Demyx!" Vanitas screams and he snatches the wooden instrument from him. "Not so loud! And not so hard."

"Sorry, I'm just testing it." Demyx fibs.

"Try quieter. Blow softer." He instructs.

Demyx obeys and blows gently over the hole of one pipe near the middle. The sound comes out clearer and calmer at its proper tone. Vanitas sighs as he turns to Roxas. "Come on, there's a stall with some clothe further down."

Roxas hesitantly follows Vanitas towards the stall, Vanitas walking two pace ahead. Coming up to the stall, Roxas finds shifts of different muted colors stacked neatly on top of one another, largest size on the bottom, shrinking to a size small on top. The man hosting the stall speaks with Vanitas as Roxas browses. He's tempted to buy a long-sleeved tunic the color of sand when he finds a checkered bracelet off to the side in the small gathering of jewelry. It seemed to be made of a thicker fabric than the tunics, and the checkered design seemed, individual.

He takes the bracelet and places it on his wrist. Turning his wrist over and over he grows to like the design and how it fits comfortably on his wrist. Already he thinks of the many advantages he can use for it, as well as disadvantages.

"Ah, good choice!" the man speaks. "Checkered goes with everything!"

_Does blood count_? Roxas thinks to himself. "How much?" he asks out loud.

"For you, only three fifty."

"Does that mean three hundred and fifty dollars or three dollars and fifty cents?" Roxas cautiously asks.

"Three dollars. These were part of my summer collection, and now they're on clearance." The man says.

"Yeah, sure." Roxas agrees.

He digs through his inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out his coin purse, giving exact change. "Oh thank you kind sir! You contribution is much obliged!"

Roxas continues to browse the stall, buying four new tunics varying from black, brown, grey and a dark blue, two pairs of new pants and one pair of new boots. The salesman was kind enough to offer Roxas a small place to change – by that meaning a mere curtain blocking off sight of the other people – and Roxas changes into his the blue tunic and boots. The soles feel much better and the pinching is gone, making Roxas feel much more exuberant. He rolls up the sleeves to his elbow and keeps on his leather jacket.

"Thank you." He says to the salesman.

"Not a problem! Be sure to come back whenever you need new clothes! I have the finest and softest fabric to ever braise your skin!"

Vanitas, Roxas and Demyx wander towards the fountain, sitting on one of four benches bordering the sculpture. Children sit on the wide basin and splash one another, giggling and squealing as they chase one another around when the water lands in their face. A bard plays a set of different sized drums, accompanied by a pan flute player; a small rug sprawled out in front of them with a small amount of coins tossed to the center.

Demyx watches intently as the player gently blows over the hole and slides his lip across the others resulting in pitch changes. Roxas tilts his head back and lets the sun warm his face, a small smile on his lips.

"Almost forgot what it feels like to be inside a town, you know?" Vanitas softly speaks.

Roxas turns his head towards his left and smiles. "Yeah. To be among other people."

"Guys, it's not like we're cavemen." Demyx interjects.

"Well, not all of us." Vanitas counters as they watch Demyx viciously sink his teeth into a grapefruit. Demyx realizes this, and changes his composure almost immediately, clearing his throat.

As Roxas shifts his eyes to the shimmering water, he can't shake the feeling of awkwardness pulsating off of several of the townsmen as they pass the trio by. Roxas can feel their little side glances, the puckered skin of suspicion between frowning brows, the hushed whispers that carry across the sun-kissed dirt like tiny daggers drawing blood.

He leans into Vanitas who is trying to help Demyx slice his grapefruit into wedges. "Van, I think some of these people are starting to suspect." He whispers.

Vanitas narrows his eyebrows and hands Demyx the knife. "You want to go inside somewhere?"

"I don't think it'll make much of a difference. At least out here I can lose them in the crowds." Roxas reminds.

"Fair enough. Oh, and I meant to tell you, the Faceless are probably here too."

Roxas snaps his head up to Vanitas. "What?"

"Locals are saying that when you see a certain logo, then the Faceless are near or it's their territory." Vanitas explains.

"What's the logo?"

"Best way I can describe it, a face-shaped head with an X crossing it out almost." Vanitas explains.

"Any ideas where we can find them in Agrabah?" Roxas asks.

"I don't have any leads, but I know it's located in the poor districts." Vanitas assets.

The boys watch as the man playing the drums has soon attracted the attention of several dancers who wear veils, a V-neck sleeveless midriff top, low genie pants which shows the navel, and a scarf with coins sewn on it worn around the waist. The clothing is also adorned with sequins and beads that rattle as they perform improvised dances involving torso articulation and wavering of their stomachs. They wear different shades of pink along with two individuals in purple and blue, gold cuffs cupping either their upper or lower arms.

The dance is unlike anything Roxas has ever seen and it fascinates him how fluid the women's body manipulate as they dance around with graceful steps and small bells jingling from their wrists and ankles. The dance seems primarily a torso-driven dance, with an emphasis on articulations of the hips. Different moves seem to be incorporated. Staccato movements, most commonly of the hips, which can be used to punctuate the music or accent a beat. Flowing, sinuous movements in which the body is in continuous motion, which may be used to interpret melodic lines and lyrical sections in the music, or modulated to express complex instrumental improvisations, as well as being performed in a rhythmic manner, and small, fast, continuous movements of the hips or ribcage, which create an impression of texture and depth of movement.

Soon men and woman gather around as the women continue their gyrations. Roxas observes them with a more casual interest, if not scientific as to what motive they have for such sultry display. Apart from mere entertainment, Roxas assumes they must be promoting a business as the movement are especially seductive. He remembers how prostitution was a much large and prosperous job line back in Twilight Town, of which he could easily see the women's utter disgust and hatred for their customers. But these woman with long raven-black hair and golden skin, seem to be legitimately enjoying what they do and wallow happily in the attention they're receiving.

The exotic women shift and dance with professional expertise, every movement designed to flaunt a certain curve, emphasize the length of their legs, or bring attention to their lips, breasts, or waists.

Roxas looks to Vanitas who turns his head and waggles his eyebrows. The two share a soft laugh, when the crowd emanates a gathered "Ohhhh!" Men clapping their hands, and women giggling much more goofily.

Both boys look over to find one of the girls taking graceful steps towards Roxas. He swallows thickly all of a sudden, his heart beating faster as the woman approaches with a sly smile on her red lips. Her eyes have bene done where the charcoal angles upwards near the outer corner to mimic a cat eye.

She takes her pink scarf and throws it over Roxas' head and having it rest on the back of his neck. Cheers from the crowd increase, accompanied by whistles. Roxas tries to lean his head back, but he feels the woman gently tug on the scarf. Knowing that most of these women don't publically show their affection, he decides to take it in stride and allows her to pull him closer. Demyx watches with hypnotized eyes while Vanitas has erupted into laughter.

The scarf is thin and see-through and smells of a flowery perfume, laced with more of the chiming beads. The woman brings Roxas' face close enough that her lips nearly brush his own before she tickles under his chin and takes a long stride back, cartwheeling on one hand and the other girls step forward.

Roxas removes the scarf and tosses it to Demyx, who catches it and wraps it around his own neck. The women continue to dance and earn themselves more coins as they're tossed onto the carpet.

One in particular has caught Roxas' attention. Her hair is a deep red, unlike the black of the others. Her breasts are smaller than the others', but it's attractive as well. She takes the lead once more as they increased the rhythm of their dance in intensity. The bells, all different sizes and pitches, rise into a beautiful chaos of sound. The redhead swirls before Roxas, almost within his touch. Out of all of them, only she clutches the bells of her wrists in her hands to stop their ring. Roxas watches, curious as to why. He leans his elbows forward onto his knees. With all the others focusing their noise in a final hurrah, why would she . . .

And then he sees her fingers twist at a bell, pulling something out from its clapper.

"Roxas!" Vanitas shouts, jumping up from his seat.

Roxas immediately stands, gripping the woman's wrist. He quickly and smoothly pulls out his pistol strapped to his waist, aims and pulls the trigger. The crack of the bullet echoes through the streets, silencing the drummers and earning Roxas the gazes of the massive crowd that has gathered. The bullet strikes the redhead in the neck. Her blood splashes across Roxas' face and splatters onto the red sandstone of the square and small bits on the basin of the fountain. The sound of her skull striking the cold stone makes Roxas' stomach twists. A thin needle rolls from her dead fingers the rest of the dancers step back, some crying, others stating coldly at the loss of one of their own. The people in the crowd jump back as if Roxas is a venomous snake about to strike. He steps towards the body, ignoring the sploshing of his new boots in the puddle of blood.

A trio of guards push their way through the crowd and two immediately break off into breaking the crowd and ushering the people away from the scene. Still Roxas catches al three of them briefly looking at Roxas and his blood splattered face "What is going on here?" a big muscled one shouts.

Roxas retrieves the pin and holds it up for everyone to see. "Do you see the flecks of green?" Roxas asks.

Vanitas approaches and gazes at the pin. "Venom of the hourglass scorpion, I'd wager. Native to this area. It takes several hours to flow through the blood and affect the heart, but once it does, death is inevitable."

"What happened?" Demyx asks and Roxas and Vanitas can see the look of shock on his face, and fear in his eyes as he hasn't really taken in what had just happened yet.

"Someone paid her to kill me." Roxas says. He turns to the guard and shows him the pin. "It's not dangerous when it touches skin, it's only fatal when inside the blood system."

"Roxas!" someone calls.

Roxas carefully places the pin on a handkerchief before placing it in the outstretched hand of the guard. When he turns, he finds Axel barreling towards him, his face laced with worry, only to slowly etch away as he comes closer and finds Roxas unharmed.

The moment he's within arm's reach, Axel grabs Roxas gathering him into his arms. "Oh thank gods. I heard the gunshot and I thought -"

"I'm fine, Axel." Roxas flatly states as he turns towards Vanitas, who is examining the body. Roxas approaches him and stands over Vanitas.

"So who do you think it was?" Vanitas asks as he rises. He keeps an eye on the guards as they're huddled together.

"Either The Faceless or Cloud." Roxas quotes. Axel can't help but worry at the sudden coldness in Roxas' voice. He's changed to who assassin counterpart almost. So serious and cold.

As Axel approaches, he pieces together what had happened. The girl was sent to kill Roxas and the gunshot was him killing her. And now they risk Roxas being exposed to the guards as the remembering of his bounty could easily come back.

"They do have claim over most of the towns." Vanitas informs.

"Should we leave?" Axel asks as he stands next to Roxas.

"The guards don't seem to be too riled up." Demyx says.

"Yet." says Roxas. "Better not take any chances."

"Well hold on. Let's just see." Axel says.

The guards finish their conversation and the more muscular one approaches Roxas. "While we appreciate you taking out that woman, we don't handle murder well here in Agrabah."

"I just killed a woman who tried to kill me, and now I'm the bad guy?" Roxas argues, his voice calm. "That can be argued as self-defense."

"Listen here, we'll need a few days to discuss this over. Hopefully you'll stay in town that long, if not . . . we will make you." He growls.

"Are you threatening me? I don't take kindly to threats." Roxas steps closer to the guard. "I can kill you as easily as I killed her."

"Razul," a feminine voice chimes, and immediately the guards step aside and clear a way. "Enough."

Approaching Roxas is a young woman with an hourglass figure, dark skin, and dark brown eyes. Her thick, black hair is tied into a low ponytail in a blue ribbon, accompanied by a headband with a sapphire in the center set in a gold frame. She wears a blue bedlah outfit with long poofy bustle pants and a top which leaves her forearms and midriff bare. She also sports golden earrings, a golden necklace, and gold slipper-like shoes.

The ruff-and-tough guard is suddenly reduced to a stuttering fool as she approaches. "Uh, my apologies, Princess Jasmine."

"Princess?" a voice whispers. Roxas first thinks he only thought the word when he looks and finds Axel's lips mumbling the word as he stares at the young woman. He and Demyx take a step back out of her way as she comes up to Roxas, of whom doesn't even bat an eyelash, nor bow his head in respect.

"Are you alright?" she softly speaks, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. She raises a hand ready to touch Roxas' shoulder, but he angles away and keeps his expression neutral, in an almost cold observing glare. The princess, Jasmine, retracts her hand, but doesn't seem insulted. "I apologize for their behavior."

"They say the guards serve as a representation of the rulers, such as a child of a parent. And it would seem that yours need more discipline." Roxas coldly replies.

"Why you little -!" Razul starts, but Jasmine holds up her hand and he stops before he can even charge like the angry bull he mimics.

"I'm sorry, my father has them on high alert since this group of assassins have allegedly settled in Agrabah." Jasmine speaks.

"The Faceless."

"Yes," she gives a peculiar look to Roxas. "How do you know them?"

"We're searching for them." Roxas states. He can feel the gazes of Demyx, Axel and Vanitas, but he has to try and not smile slyly. "They took away my family, and now I want to end them." He then lies.

Jasmine covers her mouth with her hand as she gasps. "Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry to hear that."

"It's not your fault, your majesty. However, it would seem that they are onto our hunt as they've disguised one of their own to try and kill me." Roxas carefully notions to the bloodied body behind him. To his surprise Jasmine peeks out and despite her eyes widening and covering her mouth, she reacts much better than he expected. "I wish I could apologize for committing crimes in your city, but I'm afraid I must leave at once, for I fear they may target innocents to get to me."

"Perhaps I could offer you a place at the palace. They say the Faceless don't attack members of a royal family. I'm sure it'll be the safest place or you until you decide to leave. Of which I can offer my guards to escort you out." Jasmine offers.

"What?" the word is said in a gathered tone of Razul, Axel, and Demyx.

"Your majesty, are you sure -"

"I would not want to impose on you, your highness." Roxas declines. "and I don't think your, guard dog likes me too much."

"Oh it's not a problem I can assure you." Jasmine smiles as she steps and places her hands gingerly on Roxas' shoulders.

"But I do have more members I'm afraid."

"There's plenty of room." She smiles. "Come. You can gather your party and I'll be waiting for you by the castle gates."

"Thank you, your majesty. And if I may ask, why do you seem to, content with inviting commoners to your palace?" Roxas asks.

"My husband was once among the villagers. He was a thief and stole to survive. He was a charming boy, and very funny." Jasmine explains. "Go, gather your men and meet me at the gates."

"Yes, your majesty. And you have my thanks once again." Roxas smiles, and this time he bows his head.

"Of course." Jasmine smiles and she waves off the boys before turning and walking off with most of the guards at her back. Razul stays behind glaring at Roxas.

Roxas slyly smiles. "Run along little doggy. Back to your master." Roxas ushers with a shooing motion of his hand.

Razul growls, but turns away stomping his foot, mimicking an angry child sent to his room without supper. The guards behind them have cleaned up the body, loading it onto a wheelbarrow and using a carpet to cover up the stain until they can find suitable means to clean it.

"Roxas." Roxas turns to find Vanitas with a wide grin. "You . . . little, _genius_!" Vanitas gathers Roxas in a hug of which Demyx and Axel join in with an outbreak of laughter. Demyx hands Roxas a towel dipped in the clean water of the fountain and allows him to wipe his face.

When the release Roxas, he says "Demyx and Vanitas, gather the men and please make sure they have their best behavior."

"Yes, sir!" Demyx salutes.

"Axel, travel back to camp and inform the rest of the men of our stay." Roxas says.

"What about you?"

What about me, I'm going to the palace." Roxas says.

"Okay." Axel replies reluctantly.

"I'll be fine."

"I know."

"Then what's the problem?" Roxas asks as he approaches.

"N-Nothing. Just, be careful. Okay?"

"I will, Axel." Roxas smiles.

Watching Roxas walk away, Axel takes a deep uneasy breath before jogging his way back to camp.


	8. Chapter 7

The palace is located in the center of Agrabah, and can be seen from anywhere in the town. A small area on the wall is outfitted for the Sultan to make speeches and announcements to the people. There are multiple towers of varying sizes. Inside, there are various rooms that are used by the Sultan and his family. Outside, in the area between the walls and the building itself is a large garden, as well as a white marble fountain with a stone swan swimming on top.

Axel had gathered the rest of the men and they met up with Roxas and Jasmine who waited at the front doors of the palace. Roxas couldn't help but laugh at the expressions on the men's faces as they walked up the steps to the palace. They gazed in awe with mouths widely agape. Jasmine giggles as the men come up the steps, then has the guards take their things and keeps them in the storage room of the palace.

Once all the men were present, Jasmine led them as well as the guards towards the west wing where they claimed to have extra rooms. She promised they'd meet with the Sultan at dinner, of which most of the men were more than eager to eat something other than hand scaled fish and rabbit leg.

Each of them were escorted to a room, of which could only host one person per room, leaving Axel to his own devices and Roxas with peace and quiet for once. Jasmine also said she would talk to the guards and clear up any confusion with the guards on the topic of the dancer sent to kill him.

The room itself almost felt bigger than the entire first floor of the mansion back in Twilight Town. Tiered crystal chandeliers hand suspended from the ceiling. Bronze-colored columns lining the walls by three stand guard while many elegant curtains of blue and green hang suspended from the circular domed ceiling. Enormous tapestries hang on the walls while embroidered pillows and carpets line the floor. The floor is polished marble with a circular tessellation design at the very epicenter, where the blue and green curtains enclose around a small space holding the bed, a vanity and a couple of small end tables. The room then opens up to a large balcony.

Finally alone in what feels like forever, Roxas stands out on the balcony and rests on his forearms gazing out at the expanse that is Agrabah. The windows of the houses have a warm buttery glow to them and exert a welcoming feel of family togetherness. Though it should be at the forefront of his mind, Roxas can't seem to bring himself to care about the dancer that was sent by someone to kill him. Though it means they're probably being tracked, though it means they're being watched, Roxas doesn't have the slightest concern. But why? Because they're in the palace, under the false idea of protection? Royal families and political affairs never stopped his father before.

A breeze kicks up and blows through Roxas' hair, tickling his cheeks. None of them will truly be safe until they are in the hands of the Faceless, Roxas knows and admits that. They're the only ones who have no influence and no fear of Cloud, but what should happen if they deny Roxas and his weary group of travelers? Should he beg or direct the group from there. They can't keep traveling like they have. They will lose patients, they will repent, and even consider going back to Cloud. At least with Cloud they had a permanent home, unshakable respect and food that was sent to them with the single ring of a bell. Roxas can't give them that, nor does he think he can compare at all.

Up until now, he hadn't thought about what he should do if they do get denied by the Faceless. His first answer automatically pops into his head, and it frightens him: Give up.

If they get denied, then there's no other place for Roxas. He's been banished from his hometown, no other place will offer sanctuary with Roxas bounty. He'll have to resort to his old habits to get what he wants in the world, and the thought twists Roxas stomach. Could all his fleeing be for nothing? He tried to escape his way of stealing and framing and daggers and blood, but he'll have no choice to resort to it since he's bound to run out of money sooner or later. And he's rather spend his time in prison rather than go back to his father and beg on his knees for forgiveness and acceptance once more.

Sighing in frustration, Roxas retreats back into the room and suddenly gets an odd feeling. He finds some of his things have been rearranged. The sound of running water draws him through a purple cloth leading to the bathroom, and he finds a young servant girl dressed in a magenta colored sari with gold lacing on the bottom, drawing a bath for him. Steam wafts upwards from the large tub that mimics the shape of a divan.

"Pardon my intrusion." The girl bows.

"Think nothing of it." Roxas says.

"I have prepared your bath. The towels are set here," she motions to a simple chair with a cushion as it holds a neatly folded towel. "These will also be your clothes for the dinner. I'll have yours washed while you eat."

She motions Roxas over to a green-blue short-sleeved kurta pajama with gold trims, along with pale tan colored pants and simple slippers.

"Oh, thank you." he says and the woman bows once more before leaving.

Once he's sure she's left the room, Roxas strips naked, a little conflicted on whether to discard his newly obtained garments. They suffered little staining from the blood Roxas leaked from the dancer, most of it on his jacket; but he doesn't want to turn them in so quickly.

It takes three steps to reach the bottom of the tub, and Roxas sinks himself up to his neck in sweet smelling bubbles. The servant girl has also added a small basket of dried flowers that perfumes the air. Resting his head back, Roxas sighs as he feels a cushion behind his head, positioned perfectly for comfort. He closes his eyes and can't help but smile. The water has a certain silken feel to it, and when he brings up his hand, it feels slippery but smooth. Possibly the work of some kind of special oil.

Allowing himself to enjoy the luxury, he washes his hair with shampoo and scrubs his skin red with a soap that hails the scent of watermelons; feeling the sweat and grim leave his skin and face is more than refreshing, it's rejuvenating. Roxas worries he might be coming out smelling like a fruit basket once he leaves the tub, but at least it cancels out the smell of blood and sweat. He imagines himself almost like a snake, shedding its old tattered skin and coming out shiny and new.

Once he is satisfied, Roxas simply sits in the tub; letting the steam open his pores and imagines the water like a warm blanket until his hands have shriveled. Stepping out of the tub, his skin instantly crawls with goose bumps. He snatches the towel and starts drying off his hair before working his way down his body to his feet. As he rubs the towel along his hair, he catches his reflection in the fogged mirror and stops. Wiping his hand across the surface, he finds it hard to believe that the boy looking back at him . . . is really him.

Turning around, he can still see the scar form where the stitches were implanted for his shoulder wound created by an arrow shot by his father. Scars crisscross along his chest, aging him by three years, and the ugly blue and purple bruises that mar their way across his chest and neck like a sickly rash. The bags under his eyes have deepened, and for a moment he wants to skip the dinner and just go straight to bed, but the growling in his stomach sways his decision easily.

No matter how he appears though, whether to him or to others, Roxas can only see a hollowed out shell of a boy he once knew. He searches for something to hang on to, some sign of the boy who had the world in the palm of his hand and a stable future ahead of him. He wonders what would've happened if he hadn't stumbled onto the ship where he met the man of whom he would become inseparable to. Would he only be a mere extension pawn of his father, always destined to live in his shadow? Would he have risen to greater heights? Or would he only be seen as a spawn of evil, banished to the Abyss for all the grief he's wrought?

A voice calls from the bedroom. "Roxas?" Axel's voice calls.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Yeah." Roxas answers.

"Are you ready?"

"I will just give me a minute." Roxas says.

Roxas pulls on the kurta and pants, wiping off his feet before slipping them into the thin slippers. With his hair nearly dried, Roxas tries his best to manage it to one side before pushing through the curtain. He finds Axel standing there in a matching ensemble but his kurta is a mahogany red. He turns his head to Roxas and smiles. "Not bad, I almost feel like we're fitting in."

"We could never fit in anywhere." Roxas states, ready to brush past Axel and towards the hallway.

"Hey," Axel takes Roxas wrist before he can. "What's wrong?" Roxas pauses and focuses on a small spot on the floor, avoiding Axel's gaze. "Roxas."

Looking up with forlorn in his eyes, Roxas says, "What do you think things would've been like if we hadn't met?"

This takes Axel by surprise as he raises his eyebrows, but his face turns somber. "I don't know, I don't really think about it."

"You mean you try not to." Roxas says.

"No, I mean I don't. At all. I honestly can't imagine my life without you."

Roxas turns to him, his expression almost annoyed. "How can you say that?! After everything I've done to you? To your crew." His voice quiets. "To Ventus. How can you still stand there and say that you still care about me?!"

"Because it's the truth." Axel states. "I'd rather die than go a million years without knowing you! You're the best thing that's happened to me. And I honestly can't think of what I'd be doing without you. I'd probably be some fat man sitting in the cabin with a pot of frosting in my arm."

Roxas coldly chuckles despite him trying to be serious.

"Where did this even come from?"

"You asked what was wrong" says Roxas.

"And this didn't really answer my question." Axel retorts. Roxas rolls his eyes and sighs. "Just stop sighing and tell me." Axel takes Roxas' hands his head into Roxas' view as best he can, and speaks with a tranquil voice. "Why would you ask that?"

"I just . . . can't help on how things would be different. If we hadn't met, would Ventus still be alive? Would my father had finally accepted me and praise me with his love? Would I have been as cold and ruthless as him; maybe worse?"

"You're not second-guessing yourself, are you? You can't doubt yourself Roxas. Not now. You can't let the 'What If's' change your whole perspective of things. What's done is done."

"I don't know." Roxas admits. "I mean, I suppose there's a lot of things I could question. Why didn't I rebel sooner? Why did I let him hold me back?" Roxas turns to Axel. "How could I have let him seal me off from something so . . . amazing?"

"You can't change the pass Roxas," Axel says as he approaches. "But you can change your future. You are who you choose to be, not what other people make you."

Roxas steps closer and rests his forehead against Axel's chest and embraces the warmth given off when Axel wraps his arms around him. They stay like this until there's a knock at the door from one of the servants requesting the men come down for dinner.

Hand in hand they follow her through the tile halls; Roxas gazing at the detailed designs of flowers done all along the walls and on centered tiles on the floor.

Walking into the dining hall, the entire room is soaring and grand. Two walls are nearly dominated by archways that lead out to wide balconies with only thin see-through curtains to block off view. The scent of cinnamon, freshly baked bread, and spiced meat seeps to Roxas' nose, causing his stomach to growl like that of a ravenous dog. The smell of perfume and wine mingled with the scent of the rich food. More draperies hung suspended from the domed ceilings.

A long table is set lengthwise with plush, multicolored pillows and more elegant silks and curtains draping across the domed ceiling and down the walls in deep material waterfalls. Servants walk left and right carrying plates on their arms and pitchers of water.

"Axel, Roxas!" Demyx wavers over. "Over here!"

They look to find all the survivors present at the table, all wearing similar kurtas just in different colors, and the table still with plenty of room left.

The table is overflowing with food, plates touching the corners and seemingly spilling over the edge. A crown roast, filet tied with rosemary and exotic dishes Roxas has never seen before. A large bird stuffed with dressing and pears, resting on peacock feathers arranged to resemble a live bird's open tail. Huge platters of fowl stuffed with savory fruits and nuts, ocean creatures drizzled in sauces or begging to be dipped in spicy concoctions, and counsels cheeses, breads, vegetables, sweets, waterfalls of wine, and streams of spirits that flicker with flames. At least twenty or more soups and a creamy pumpkin brew sprinkled with silver nuts and tiny black seeds. The men stare at the table with hungry eyes and licking their lips in anticipation.

Roxas' eyes find Jasmine sitting at the very end of the table next to a short, plump man with a white beard, assumption being her father the Sultan. But sitting next to her is a peculiar young man wearing usual street market apparel rather than robes fit for dinner.

Jasmine laughs and smiles at him and the two of them hold hands together as they sit and the Sultan can't seem to be happier. Roxas can only assume that this must be her suitor that she had mentioned. He didn't catch his name, but he doesn't need to as Jasmine speaks it. Aladdin?

Aladdin has tan skin and brown eyes, as well as black, shaggy hair. He wears a red-violet fez and a thin, purple vest which hangs open, exposing his chest. His pants are white and baggy and are held up by what seems to be an orange sash. His street-rat status is reflected by the yellow patch on the lower right of his pant leg, and by the fact that he doesn't wear shoes or socks, instead choosing barefoot.

Jasmine's attention drifts to Roxas and Axel and waves them over. With Jasmine seated between Aladdin and the Sultan, Roxas sits across from Jasmine, then Axel to his left, Vanitas to his right; Demyx sitting next to Aladdin. Then it's the rest of the crew panning out from there.

Once Roxas and Axel have joined the group, the Sultan starts the dinner. "Welcome! Welcome my boy, please make yourself at home." The Sultan greets.

"Thank you, your majesty." Roxas says with a bow of his head. "I apologize for the sudden intrusion."

"Oh not a problem at all my boy." The Sultan waves off. "My daughter tells me that you and your travelers are in need of some help."

"Uh, well we've been traveling along the road for a while, and we manage." Roxas humbles.

"Oh you're quite the trooper young man." He laughs. "I only wish my guards were more like you."

"No, you don't." Roxas mumbles.

"If I may ask," the Sultan continues as the servants ready the plates for the men. "How long do you boys plan to stay in town?"

"We plan on leaving tomorrow." Roxas answers, and behind him he can hear the men grumble with disappointment.

"Oh well why so soon?"

"We are trying to get to Atlantica and we're trying to get there before the weather turns bad." Roxas immediately replies with not waver in his voice.

"Well that's understandable." The Sultan confides.

"And also I want to apologize for the scene I caused in the marketplace." Roxas says.

"It's fine, Roxas." Jasmine complies. "You were defending yourself against someone tasked with killing you here."

The Sultan grumbles. "Of course!" he slaps his palm on the table. "I'd rather the loss of an assassin than the loss of an innocent."

Roxas cringes at the word innocent since it's the very last word that could ever describe Roxas. He can't help but keep looking down at the table to observe the men to ensure their best behavior.

"So, where are you originally from?" Aladdin asks.

Roxas looks to him and suddenly his guard rises, the iron gate clasping tight. Aladdin doesn't look threatening nor suspicious, but still Roxas can't take the chance of exposing much information. "I'm from Twilight Town."

Aladdin's eyebrows rise in surprise. "Wow, that is quite the travel. How did you survive?"

"I hunted in the woods and collected what I could from the woods along with the help of some of the men."

"Impressive." Aladdin compliments.

"Thank you." Roxas still politely smiles. As he speaks, a red parrot with blue tipped feathers flies onto the table and starts to walk towards a bowl of fruit.

"Hey, no." Axel says as she tries to shoo it off. "Shoo, this food isn't for you."

"Says who wise guy!" the bird retorts.

The room falls silent and after a moment of staring at the parrot, it suddenly gets whacked with a plate and is sent flying off the table and skipping across the tile. Roxas stares astonished as the bird screams like a human and even gives off grunts of pain. Once it settles, it stands and ruffles its feathers.

"Hey! What's the big idea?!" He shouts. "Do you know how hard I work to keep these feathers clean?!"

Roxas watches as Aladdin gets up and goes over to the parrot, rolling his eyes.

"It's not enough I've got to be constantly on guard for that useless tiger, but no! Now I have to watch out for the simplest of utensils to make sure they don't sprain my back!"

Roxas looks and finds Xigbar with the plate in his hands, and scattered mess of apples roll around the table and some have smeared some berries and nuts left in small bowls.

"The . . . T-The bird's talking!" Demyx stutters.

Aladdin walks back over with the bird on his shoulder. "Yeah he does that." He says.

"Yeesh, can't a parrot enjoy a nice meal without worrying about the distortion of his feathers?!" it still squawks. "What's a matter you haven't seen a talking parrot? Do I need to repeat every word you say to get me to seem less scary?"

A small chuckle escapes Roxas' lips at the ironic joke.

"That's a bit of stereotypical judgment there." Axel smirks. Roxas looks to him and finds him amused as well, but still in shock over the fact that the parrot can talk.

"This is Yago." Jasmine says with an annoyed tone.

"Friend of yours?" asks Roxas.

"Hardly." Jasmine rolls her eyes.

"Yago was once the sidekick of The Sultan's former advisor." Aladdin informs as he sits down. Yago hops off back onto the table, accompanied by a small monkey wearing a similar cap and vest of Aladdin. He chirps and squeaks at Yago. "And that's Abo." Aladdin says. He's my little buddy."

Abo tips his hat and gives a small monkey chuckle. Then he goes for an apple and Yago walks the other direction and fetches a skewer stick with potatoes, carrots, tomatoes and small cuts of meat.

"So we get to eat all this?" Demyx interjects.

"Oh no," Jasmine. "This is just the first course." Roxas and the men look to her wide-eyed. "There's a total of nine."

"Oh my god." Roxas murmurs as he turns and leans back into his chair.

"Daddy's home!" Demyx cheers and the men all rally with him holding up their gold grails in praise.

"I never knew ho hungry they were." Vanitas whispers to Roxas.

"Neither did I." Roxas replies, and Vanitas can't get past the disappointment in Roxas voice. Not for the men being unappreciative of his efforts to feed them, but it's more along the lines of how still very hungry they seemed even with all the game Roxas and Vanitas managed to collect.

"You ready?" Aladdin smiles.

"I don't know. So how does it go?" Roxas asks.

"The courses begin with some type of seafood, followed by soup, salad, then by a dish consisting of fish." Jasmine explains. "The fifth course is usually a light dish consisting of white meat, followed by a dish consisting of red meat and then by some wine and cheese. The last two courses are some more salad and finally the dessert."

"Dear god, help us." Axel says.

"You don't have to eat all of it. If you're full, then you're full." The Sultan assures.

"Okay, no more than one bite of each dish. I want to taste everything." Roxas says.

"Then pace yourself." Jasmine advises with a smirk.

Set in front of them are utensils and plates and bowls fit for each course Jasmine mentioned. There are at least four different forks and spoons, and counting total at least with thousand salad plates in total for the guests. As Demyx takes a fork and readies to stab into the turkey dripping with grease, a large puff of smoke pops in from of him and he retracts like a cat.

Roxas' hand flinches to his dagger and shifts slightly as the purple smoke swirls into a funnel and gross thicker before becoming like a small tornado.

Then after a loud popping sound and then a blast of air, it dissipates and standing there is a large being with his skin the color of sky blue. His hair is tied back into a topknot secured by a small gold ring.

"Alright!" his voice carries around the room with the acoustics, making it nearly deafening. "Time for dinner! Oh I have long since waited for this, I have been meaning to try out this new recopy I got from Cleopatra, though I doubt anyone really wants to eat bugs. "he swoops down towards Aladdin. "Though despite people say it takes like chicken, I for one prefer a little bit of snail myself."

Roxas slowly readies to stand as he gazes at the figure in shock and surprise. He's never seen anyone like him, and Roxas is admittedly left disturbed at how he had appeared in a puff of purple smoke. He appears so animated and flamboyant as he appears and disappears in random spots, Yago already seemingly annoyed by the figure's presence.

What startles Roxas is that the figure is floating. His legs are nonexistent, replaced by a ghostly tail that is a slightly darker shade than the rest of his body. A red sash divides the upper and lower halves of his body.

Aladdin and Jasmine laugh as the man appears and disappears from one section to another, poofing in purple sparkling smoke. They seem undisturbed by the man's sorcery, which hopefully means that he's nonthreatening.

He has a small pointed nose and curved, pointed ears. He wears a single gold earring on his right earlobe and has a black beard that ends in curl. Accompanying his four fingers hands, he wears cold cuffs on each wrist. His legs are nonexistent, replaced by a ghostly tail that is a slightly darker shade than the rest of his body. A red sash divides the upper and lower halves of his body.

Jasmine finally notices the reaction of the men and brings it to Aladdin. "I'm sorry, this is our friend -"

"Genie!" the blue man belches with enthusiasm. "Magical being with phenomenal cosmic, powers and recently freed to traverse amongst the world!" He swoops down next to Roxas and wraps his arm around him. "And you seem like you've never witnessed a magical being before, so! Allow me to educate you!"

Genie swoops back and points his finger at Roxas. For a flash second, a small bolt of lightning shoots at Roxas quicker than before he can block his face or draw his dagger. Suddenly he feels a slight static tingle and a brush of fabric, and when opening his eyes he finds his outfit has been changed. He now wears a strange uniform of dark pants, a white shirt and a plaid blue and white tie.

Roxas meets the eyes of the crew who diverse between giggles of amusement and astonishment at the sudden change of clothes. Genie poofs in front of him with an education cap on, a pointer stick in his hand and a chalkboard with a depiction of a lamp with steam coming out of the spout.

"I . . . am a Genie. And I _used_ to be . . . a prisoner." Genie says with overly dramatic forlorn. "But! With the help of my little pal here!" he briefly swoops next to Aladdin. "I am a free man! Though I can't afford to depart from him as he has become by far favorite master! Now, I can see you are outsiders, and if you'll just let me get the gondola ready I'll can take you on a – Ow!"

Genie had swooped down next to Roxas and quickly put his arm around the boy's shoulder, resulting in Roxas drawing out his dagger and slashing at Genie's arm as he has now grown anxious to any unfamiliar touch. Genie floats back and looks to his arm, which leaks a form of red blood that slowly tints to blue or purple.

"Oh, that's smart. You've got good reflexes on you, kid." He winks.

Roxas, had spun the blade out, which is stained with Genie's blood, but it quickly fades off until it disappears off of the blade. He looks around and finds some of the members with wide eyes and nervous looks as they turn their attention to Jasmine, Aladdin and the Sultan. Once Roxas realizes what he's done, he quickly stands up straight and lowers his arm. "I, I'm sorry, Genie. It was just a reflex." Roxas says.

"Oh don't worry about it kid. I . . . am . . . _Invincible_!" Genie shouts as he grows to gargantuan size nearly taking up the room. "And You, Shall Not, Pass!" then with the blink of an eye, Genie is at Roxas' side and back to his assuming normal size. "But since you're new here I'll let you pass."

Roxas nervously smiles ad laughs as another puff of smoke turns his clothes back to the kurta. Roxas takes his seat back next to Axel as Genie poofs once more behind Aladdin, this time in a wearing a lopsided had and a striped shirt with a red scarf. When he speaks, he has an accent that seems very nasal sounding as he carries a wicker basket of bread.

As the meal officially begins, Roxas has to eye the men carefully since to make sure they have enough self control and decency to patiently devour their meal. They hold up well, but Roxas can see the urgency in their eyes. The only reason that's probably holding them back is the fact that they could easily return the meal as quickly as they can eat it; and if they can tolerate a bowl of dog meat stew, they're bound to hold onto these delicious delicacies.

Things go well, and Roxas as well has to retain himself from digging into his favored delicacy – big meat poured with a thick gravy and seasoned with an exotic spice – before he has tried at least a bite of each meal. It astonishes him how Jasmine and her father could so easily eat this kind of luxury each night. Axel finishes early and excuses himself to his chamber, and some of the men follow, looking rather green in the face while the other half stay for dessert.

Once the meal is officially over, Roxas has to hold his stomach and worries about it coming back up as he follows a servant girl to his room. He thanks her and closes the door softly, ready to climb into the bed and sleep as peacefully as he can, when a peculiar sight stops him. He looks to find his bed completely covered in blue rose petals, and at least five to six bouquets on the floor and on the bed.

Roxas carefully steps his way towards the bed and finds a thin trail of their petals leading out to the balcony of his room. Turning his head, he looks and immediately laughs. Axel stands there, in a white puffed-sleeved tunic that cuffs at the wrist, with a deep blue vest and pants. His gun is strapped to his waist as he leans against the balcony with a smirk.

Not saying a word just yet, Roxas follows the trail with a wide smile as she approaches Axel. He figures he'd be the first to crack a joke, but Axel beats him to it. "You'd be surprised just how willing the servants are to help you when you're planning something romantic." He says.

Roxas laughs again as he comes up and places his hand on the balcony. The night has overtaken the skies of Agrabah, with millions of stars swimming in its darkness. "What's with all this."

"I just, wanted to be a little romantic, as said two seconds before." Axel teases. Roxas smiles and rolls his eyes. "But seriously, I wanted to use the private chambers to our advantage."

Roxas swallows and his heart skips a beat as he feels Axel press his body to Roxas' back, his arms wrapping around Roxas' shoulders. He can feel Axel's chin rest on his shoulder and Roxas turns his head, his lips brushing against the redhead's forehead. He lets Axel run his left hand down his arm, while the other remains flattened over the flame tattoo over Roxas' heart. Roxas keeps notice of his heartbeat as Axel's hand relaxes palm to palm with Roxas', then his thumb traces over the skin of his knuckles.

"Do you know anything special about the fourth finger on the left hand, Roxas?" Axel suddenly asks. "Why they put rings on it?"

"Huh? Where did that come from?"

"Just wondering out loud. And since there doesn't seem to be anything you don't know, I thought I'd give you a little quiz."

Shivers run down Roxas' spine as his mind races, jumbling around questions and answers while trying to stay focused on Axel.

"Um, well it is the fourth proximal digit of the human hand, and the second most ulnar finger, located between the middle finger and the little finger. It is also called "digitus medicinalis", the fourth finger, digitus annularis, digitus quartus, or digitus IV in anatomy."

"Mhmm." Axel answers, the vocal humming vibrating through the bones of Roxas' chest.

"The names of the finger in many languages reflect an ancient belief that it is a magical finger. People believe that a vain runs directly from the fourth finger on the left hand to the heart. By putting a ring on the fourth finger of the left hand, a married couple symbolically declares their eternal love for each other." Roxas says. The fact of the vain is all he ever cared for since he assumed it would be crucial for him when facing a foe. With the vain connecting to the heart, it could be an advantage in a fight.

"Is that it?"

"That's all that's important." Roxas says.

He feels Axel lift and step away, and for a second Roxas fears he didn't give Axel the answer he wanted, but really, he doesn't know what that is. But He's turned around by Axel who stares at him with a soft expression that shows a compassion for Roxas supposed naïve nature.

"Why would you ask me that?" Roxas questions.

"Like I said it was a quiz questions. Like you're not used to pop quizzes."

"Usually they don't even involve questions, just the whistle of a sword." Roxas replies.

"Well, it was also a way to break the ice." Axel says as he sticks his hand in his pocket.

"For what?"

"Well, despite everything that's been happening, through a series of informative rummaging, and by that I mean asking around the camp, I was able to find out the date of your birthday." Axel says.

Roxas' cheeks become warm. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Axel doesn't answer, instead he smiles as he pulls out his hand, and the first thing Roxas notices is that his fingers are holding something. His heart quickens when Axel opens up his hand and reveals a small velvet box small than Axel's palm.

"Wha -? What?" Roxas breathes.

Axel opens the box and reveals a thin, gold ring.

Roxas gasps and his breathing is rattled as he reads the red engraving, "I Love You". Axel takes the ring out of its casing. The jewelry sparkling like moonlight on water as is gleams and shines brand new.

"Axel."

"I know this is sudden, and not really the best time. But out of everything that has happened, it's only solidified to me that I want to spend the rest of my life with you." Axel says.

Roxas finally takes his eyes off the ring and looks to Axel with furrowed eyebrows of uncertainty.

"I am in love with you." Axel says. Roxas just stares at him as his face contorts to shock. "You heard me."

Roxas still stares, and slowly shakes his head. "Axel . . ."

"I am in love with you." Axel repeats with more conviction. "And I know that love to you has little to no meaning, and I'm not trying to confuse by doing this. But with the war and the deceitfulness you can't seem to escape, I want to give you something to look forward to. I want to give you a reason to fight. I want to give you what you never had, and that is my love, my life, and my dedication to you. Until death do us part, I am in love with you."

Roxas' eyes gleam as he lets Axel take his hand and slide the ring all the way down his finger; the words wink at him as his hand shakes.

"And I know you're uncertain about this, but I can guarantee to you, like I had promised before, that my love for you will never waver." Axel continues.

"Axel . . . I can't accept this." Roxas croaks.

"You don't have to return the feelings, but I just want you to -"

"No, it's not that. It's just," Roxas smiles. "This must've cost a lot, and I don't want you to spend it all in one place."

Axel smiles and his eyes gleam as they water. "Oh well, actually I got it at a discount."

Roxas laughs. "Oh well thanks," he pushes at Axel's stomach and the two laugh.

Holding out his hand, Roxas gazes at the ring as the gold reflects off the moonlight, illuminating his callus hand and scabbed knuckles. He almost feels self conscious with such a beautiful object on his rugged hand. Roxas breathes a laugh and folds his lips in, smiling.

"I've never really been sure of anything before."

"This isn't supposed to be a proposal. Like we said we're not ready for that. This is more of ma promise. My promise to you, and as long as you wear it, I will uphold it until you decide to become mine."

"I thought I already had." Roxas says with a confused look.

"You'll know the difference." Axel winks.

Taking Roxas' hand, Axel places a gentle kiss on the back. Roxas smiles. "Thank you." he mumbles.

Axel takes a step towards him and their lips come together. The feeling is like fitting a puzzle piece perfectly together. Roxas grips the fabric of Axle's vest in his hands while Axel's hands hold Roxas' shoulders. Roxas tentatively gasps as he feels Axel lift his hand to hold Roxas' cheek. He teases the blonde by giving short kisses instead of keeping their lips together. Then when he does, Roxas is forced to move his hands to Axel's chest as he feels Axel's slide down his back to grasp his tender bum. Roxas jolts and gasps, resulting in gripping Axel's shirt.

Axel licks his lips and drifts his lips to the skin on Roxas' neck. Roxas lets him, seething as he feels Axel nibble on his skin, the pain being cooled with the tip of his tongue. "You are so beautiful." Axel mumbles.

Leaning back, they stare at each other until a loud bang catches their attention.

"Roxas!" Demyx' muffled voice shouts. Roxas breaks apart from Axel and makes it to the threshold of the balcony as two more desperate bangs sound from behind the door. Then Demyx barges in out of breath. "Roxas!"

"What is it, Demyx? Why are you out of breath?"

"It's one the guards, they've come back from patrol saying they've spotted a Faceless in the marketplace." Demyx heaves.

"What?"

"Some are still there now, but I can't say for how long they'll be able to stay on their trail."

"Knowing them, not for long." Roxas says. "Let's move!"

"Vanitas and Lexaeus are already heading out." Demyx says.

Roxas looks back at Axel who still hangs back in the room. Biting his lip, Roxas hurries over to Axel and gives a quick peck on his lips. "I love you too." He whispers and then smiles at Axel as he retreats back and out into the hall to follow Demyx.

After sighing and running his fingers through his hair, Axel shakes his head with a submissive smile and follows Roxas out.

* * *

**~Link for inspirational photo:~**

**. /tumblr_mas28lSakE1rba6suo1_**


	9. Chapter 8

Changed into a short sleeve shirt and pants, Roxas pulls his jacket tight against his shoulders as his boots clap against the tile floor as he chases after Demyx. He hastily straps his weapons around his waist, pulling tight to ensure it won't slip.

As they hurry, Roxas tries to piece together what Demyx is attempting to say through raspy breaths. The guards are holding off the Faceless, or at least trying to keep them busy. With their highly limited skills in tracking thieves of this dexterity, Roxas fears they will escape before he can even get to the marketplace.

With Axel behind him, the trio bypasses the gates where the guards on post are readied with their swords in case the Faceless take a detour towards the palace. As they run, Roxas can feel his heart pound with excitement and nervousness as he tries to think of scenarios that could happen when met with the Faceless.

Best Case Scenario: They'll accept Roxas' offer given the situation they're in. Or he can prove to them he's useful with his skill.

Worst Case Scenario: They don't accept Roxas or the crew and they could end up on the run from two guilds. Or they could wind up dead.

Running the straight path that cuts through the middle of the entire kingdom, Roxas keeps his ears open as he feels his new pair of swords the Sultan practically shoved into Roxas' arms on their way out, slap against his thigh. They're called scimitars, as Roxas was once told; a form of backsword or sabre with a curbed blade. Digging through his knowledge, they were used in horse warfare because of their relatively light weight when compared to larger swords and their curved design, good for slashing opponent while riding on a horse. The curved design enabled riders to slash enemies and keep riding without getting stuck as stabbing with straight swords on horseback would.

Along with his two daggers and pistol on his waist, Roxas hopes that it's enough to take whatever tactic the Faceless try to use to disarm Roxas.

Finally the sounds of commotion help the trio pinpoint the location of the men. Ahead of the road, next to a stall of textiles, at least five guards stand with weapons drawn and standing staring at nothing. Just as Roxas is questioning what it is they're looking at, or trying to find, he hears Vanitas shout his name.

Jerking his head upwards, he can only spot the whip of arrows before an explosion knocks his body into Axel's as they're blown back. Roxas' ears ring and his right shoulder burns as they skip across the dry dirt, billowing up clouds of residue. Quickly Roxas pushes himself to his elbows and sees Demyx crouched around him to shield Roxas from the arrowfire. The pain subsides to a dull ache. Roxas ducks low, his boots crunching pieces of wood and rock beneath their soles, and pulls his sword out of its sheath.

All around him the smoke has clouded their surrounding, reducing everything to a fuzzy silhouette. Now they are crouching in darkness with only the moonlight after the burst of warm air after the blast. They wait for another arrow to whiz at their heads, but it stays quiet.

A hand clasps Roxas' shoulder and he finds Vanitas there as they rise. He has his dagger drawn. "Show yourselves!" he demands.

Roxas slides his hand under his jacket and feels for the wound in his shoulder. He's not bleeding, but the force of the combustion knocked him down so he must've been hit with something. He runs her fingers over his shoulder, and feels a hard bump here the skin used to by smooth.

Then voices whisper into the air.

Roxas jumps like a startled rabbit. He stands next to Vanitas and spins the blade of his scimitar out.

"That was quite the entrance!" Roxas says from his stance. He then leans close to Vanitas.

Roxas' voice catches in his throat, for there was no one around them; as far as he can see, the smoke reducing visibility to no more than two feet in front of him. Again they hear the voice, echoing from all around like a magician's trick. This time he clearly realizes that a woman is doing the whispering, a fact that should have calmed him but it did not.

"We are the Faceless children," says the whisper. "We are the most fervent, the most skilled, for we have much to atone for. Are you a sinner, boy? Will you lift your arms to us and accept our mercy?"

Shadows dance around them all, not cast from the moonlight unblocked by clouds. Roxas takes tiny steps out of the plume of smoke and back into its light, hoping it can somehow drive them away like sunlight drives away vampires.

"Show yourselves!" Vanitas repeats. "We come here to make peace and you instead try to shoot us dead! An act as cold as the winter wind!"

When Roxas peers ahead, he sees the shadows swarm together, grow in volume and mass, and then finally fill with color, becoming a woman shrouded in black with a thin white cloth covering the gap left for her eyes.

"Can't take the cold? There's warmth in the Void," the woman says as she draws a serrated dagger. "Would you like me to send you there, young man?"

"Don't try and makes threats!" Roxas snaps. "If you have other members, make them show their faces instead of cowering in the shadows!"

"Careful of what you ask, little boy. Be clear with your demands, or accept the cruel gifts fools and selfish men may give."

Roxas snarls. But it takes all his willpower to suppress the shaking of his hands and keep them gripped in fists.

"We were hoping to give a proposition that would be beneficial to us all!" Vanitas hisses. "Why did you attack us?!"

"Don't ask questions you should already know the answer to. Remain quiet. We are few, and some things must be done in silence." the woman says.

She wraps her cloak around her body, its fabric seemingly made of liquid shadow. A sudden jerk and she is gone, her body exploding into dark fragments that splash across the ground and fade like smoke.

"We may have few members, but it's because we want nothing but the best. It's time a new and better generation of assassins devour the fear of her citizens, and show them the true fear and power true warriors of the shadows deserve." Echoes a whisper. "Remember, the cost you pay is always dearer once it has left your hand."

Just as the last word hisses, Vanitas is knocked to the side from a brutal kick to the head; nearly crashing into a stall across the main road. Roxas was about to look to him, but kept his gaze forward enough to spot a pale wrapped face barreling towards him. He blocks the faceless woman's serrated dagger, but the woman then spins knocking the sword aside with her one leg, and ramming it into Roxas' gut with the other. Roxas grunts and feels the woman's right fist slam into his cheek, then his left before she grabs Roxas' hair and ears, bringing his head down and ramming it to her knee. Roxas stumbles back and feels a stream of liquid run down his lip. Bloody nose.

Axel draws a short sword and charges for the girls and as he swipes, he expects it to land in the faceless' back, but it only hits the ground. He looks to the left and is met with a vicious punch to his jaw, then kick to the stomach before his feet are out from under him. Axel goes to slash the faceless woman's arm, but instead feels his wrist grabbed and his head bangs into the sharp corner of the nearby stall. The faceless woman then pulls him back and spins and kicks his back. Axel only manages to roll backwards to his knees.

She then backflips and pushes herself off the ground and lands in front of Roxas. Roxas crosses his scimitars in an X and flips them out while charging towards the woman. She sidesteps him, as Roxas expected and he immediately goes and swipes her feet out. Even as she flips in midair he brings up his knee and manages to land it right in her back, hearing a faint pop. With his ideals for becoming one of them vanished, he spins around her and twirls his sword and goes to stab it into the woman's chest, but finds a puddle of blackness.

Hearing the whistle of the wind, Roxas whirls around and hears a clang of metal and finds another member of a thinner built with a large broadsword aimed to slice his neck. He can see a bunching of the fabric as he can imagine the woman smiling. "Not many can last more than ten seconds against us."

Something draws his gaze to the side of him, and he finds all of the guards dead in pools of their own blood. A member, still unsure of how many they're facing against, stands over them with her serrated daggers dripping crimson liquid. The blood slides off her cloak like water.

Looking back at the woman he's facing, he pushes her off and slashes even though he knows he'll miss. He hears her giggle. "You might actually be a challenge."

As she backflips he catches her throwing two small, black balls the size of grapes. Immediately he blocks his eyes and face with his arms as he feels the wave of air and the sound of small explosions ring in his ears.

Roxas stands in the middle of a dust storm swirling around him like a vortex. He listens carefully; ignoring the howl of frantic voices in his ears. Roxas spins around, bringing is elbow up as he does, and thrusts it towards the woman's face. It catches the end of her chin, but not enough to stop her. She grabs Roxas' left hand with one hand and presses the tip of her dagger to Roxas' forehead with the other. A second later she drives the hilt of the dagger into Roxas' jaw. He clenches his teeth to suppress a groan. Blood trickles down his neck – she broke the skin. The blood slides off the faceless woman's robes like water.

The woman back handsprings, leaps into the air, raising the sword. Roxas blocks it with his own and slashes it aside, kicking the woman in the shoulder; but as the woman hitches a cry and drops to one knee, she uses her other leg to kick Roxas' feet out. His back slams into the ground.

The woman goes for the killing blow, but Roxas raises her legs up, catching the woman's wrists and flinging her over. Rolling with her momentum, Roxas rolls back and to his feet, spinning out his scimitars. Demyx manages to break through the haze and join Roxas.

"He's fast." Roxas.

"Then let's be faster." Demyx growls.

Suddenly the woman bursts from the flurry grabbing Demyx' wrists, twirling and bringing her leg up to her neck. She hurls him down trapping his neck between her knee, cutting off his breathing. Within seconds he's unconscious.

"Not fast enough." The woman provokes.

"No!" Roxas as he sheathes his swords and decides to go for his belt of throwing knives. The faceless woman flips off of Demyx and lands on one knee a few feet from Roxas. He cannot see the woman's eyes through the white cloth, but he had a feeling that behind it and the wrappings hid an amused smile. She leaps high flipping back drawing another dagger that matched the other.

Roxas doesn't waste time throwing his daggers at the woman. But she dodges every single one, coming closer and closer. Roxas leaps back and to the left as the blade of the woman's weapon comes close to his cheek.

The woman grabs Roxas' elbow, yanking him back, and pushes her thumb into the wound in Roxas' shoulder, twisting until the pain makes his vision go black at the edges, and she screams at the top of his lungs.

"I _thought_ I recalled from the explosion that you getting hit in that shoulder," she says, "It seems I was right."

Roxas' knees cripple beneath him, and the woman grabs Roxas' collar almost carelessly, dragging him back towards the Square near the fountain. The fabric digs into Roxas' throat, choking him, and he stumbles after the woman. His body throbs with lingering pain.

He feels herself dropped to the ground and the woman steps over him. Roxas can't push herself up with the throbbing in his arm working its way to his head. Instead, he watches as the woman turns to face him.

"I guess you weren't he challenge I was expecting." She giggles. "I am _deeply_ disappointed." The faceless woman spins her dagger between her fingers as she approaches Roxas.

"Why . . .?" Roxas croaks. He grits his teeth and pushes up on one arm. "Why do this?"

Roxas tries to swallow but it feels like she has a wad of cotton balls in her throat. "I won't lie; you seem to have some potential. Fighting you was most . . . amusing."

"I'm not here for giggles." Roxas scowls.

"Understandable. And lucky for you my orders are clear. You live to breathe another day. After all, the shadows may find another use for you."

"Why don't you just kill me now?" Roxas asks.

The faceless woman's fingers brush against Roxas' forehead and he shudders. He should strike, but he needs to wait. "Because my orders were to intimidate." She answers. "And judging from the look on your face, you've had enough. Though not for entertainment values."

Roxas tries to flutter his eyes to mimic he's about to go unconscious from the pain, when he can feel the hilt of his dagger brush his fingers. In a smooth motion, he snatches it and drives it forward aiming for her neck. She blocks it, but Roxas grabs the other and stabs it into her toes. The tip lands true and she screams from pain. Wasting no time, Roxas does a rising windmill, twisting the blade of the dagger as he does and kicks the woman in the side of the head.

Yanking the dagger out as she sprawls across the ground, Roxas chucks two more throwing knives and they land both in her hands. She screams and Roxas barrels towards her and stabs his sword into her long purple cloak. As she pathetically scrambles, Roxas pulls out his pistol, spinning it on his finger as he comes up to her.

She looks to him as he extends out his arm and aims the muzzle at her forehead. He watches as the cloth stretches as she must have wide eyes. With one final glare, Roxas pulls the trigger and watches as a hole appears in the middle of the woman's forehead and she falls to the ground. The blood starts to seep underneath but it actually drips down from the inside instead of seeping into the fabric.

He hears the battle cry of another coming towards him, and he whirls around and blocks her dagger before jabbing the gun into her stomach and fires again. Her body shudders and he watches her cloak puff out behind her. She falls dead and Roxas steps over her and the smoke suddenly rushes towards him. Covering his eyes, he tries to peer ahead and finds a big blue machine with spinning blades aimed towards him, blowing the smoke towards him, but clearing it seconds later. Opening his eyes, he finds the machine has big eyes and an already familiar curled beard. Behind it is Aladdin.

"Whoa," Aladdin breathes in shock as he looks to Roxas. He wields a sword, but by the looks of it, he hasn't used it, yet. And hopefully he won't need to.

He and Roxas make eye contact and Roxas looks around, praying that Axel and Demyx are still alive. He looks to find them on the ground and groaning in pain, but alive. It bothers him how there are no more members around, but rotates in a circle despite the dizziness wafting around his temples.

There's a sudden burst of pain that crackles along Roxas' skull as he feels the fisted hand of a faceless strike him. Quickly rolling with the momentum, Roxas aims and fires at the faceless woman, though she dodges two of the bullets a third braises her arm. Roxas slides to a stop on his feet and switches weapons, drawing out his scimitars. As he charges, he and the woman exchange a flurry of metal clashing and whistling before she goes to stab her blade into Roxas' side. He spins out of the way and backflips onto a small post of a nearby stall, but his feet barely landed on it when there's a harsh kick into his back.

He's thrown forward and hits the ground, the grit stone scraping against his cheek. He thinks he screams, but he can't tell as his senses have become muted. His daggers scatter from his loosened grip and slide far out of his reach. The world gets fuzzy, his hearing muffled. The faceless woman approaches his and Roxas can feel her grip his chin.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise. None could ever land a hit on any of us, let alone kill two of our members." she says.

A part of Roxas wants to apologize and defend his reasoning in an attempt to win her favor, but another part of him is satisfied with his kills, hoping that it'll show off his skill if what the woman says is true.

"If you only accept the best, then beating you two was mere child's play." He falsely boasts.

"Is that so?" the woman challenges. She takes her thumb and presses it into the wound on Roxas' shoulder and he hisses in pain, grinding his teeth.

He folds his lips in to suppress a sob. His chin is released and his head is on the ground again. Only then does he feel wetness spread across his right cheek, followed by the strong scent of crimson that makes Roxas want to choke; and he realizes he's in a puddle of someone's still warm blood.

"Remember we won't take this lively." She warns.

"I'm hoping you won't." he croaks through the pain. "I wanted to make a good first impression."

"Well, it'll be your downfall." She seethes with hatred.

The faceless woman steps over him and listens as he hears the footsteps disappear. His vision is too blurry with tears and her hands too useless to grip anything. Roxas screams into gritted teeth, frustrated. He can't help. He is worthless.

"Genie!" Aladdin shouts and Roxas angles his head to find Genie snap his fingers and in a small flash he is dressed in a white trenchant with a weird headband with a mirror on the front. Around his neck is a weird device with a long rubbery tail that ends in a flat silver circle.

He poofs around to Axel and Demyx, and whatever guard can be saved. When he finally appears in front Roxas, he hears Genie seethe his teeth with worry. Then he sees Genie with a small tongue depressor and aims it at Roxas' eye.

"Okay, now just open wide." He says.

Roxas knows he's joking but his patience is far low and if he could snarl at Genie, he would. But then the depressor poofs away and Genie aims his finger at Roxas, and a long stream of magenta lightning zips towards Roxas. He watches as it coils around and around him, and he is slowly levitated up off the ground and out of the puddle.

As he's lifted he can feel the dizziness slowly fade and his pain becomes softer and softer until Roxas can barely notice the pain. His ripped clothes regenerate together and, Roxas able to hear the stitching and everything and he slowly starts to feel brand new. Lifting his hand, Roxas is astonished to see his hand looking like it's been scrubbed clean, the nails filed in perfect ovals, the scars and burns are less prominent. The skin soon becomes perfection, smooth and glowing. Not only are the scars from the fight gone, but those accumulated over years of hunting and training are vanishing without a trace. His forehead feeling like satin, and when he tries to feel for a puckered scar, or the bump on his shoulder, there is nothing.

Roxas is finally settled back down onto the ground where he's immediately glomped by a Vanitas' arms. Peering over his shoulder he can see Axel with a not so approving look glazed over with relief.

"Oh thank gods you're alright." Vanitas celebrates.

"Gods' have got nothing to do with it. Thank you Genie." He says.

"Oh not a problem, now, I must attend to his mess right here. On the bright side it gives me a chance to redecorate. I'm thinking we need something a little more simple, a little more elegant and less grey!" he laughs. "Did it, done it, own it!"

"Let's head back to the palace and tell the Sultan what we saw." Aladdin informs while behind him Genie starts another small whirlwind of debris.

"Right." Roxas nods.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Axel asks.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Roxas says.

He goes to collect his swords and daggers, careful to wipe the excess blood off on the ground. Sheathing his weapons he adjusts his jacket and walks past the men taking the lead. He shoves his hands into his pockets and keeps his eyes on the ground, on his feet as he walks.

* * *

Heaving a sigh, Roxas lets his jacket slide from his arms and examines his shoulder. A small hilt about the size of his pinky finger is pressed against his skin. Surrounding it is a patch of blue strands, like someone injected blue dye into the tiny veins just beneath the surface of his skin. Frowning, Roxas tries to pull the hilt away from his arm, and feels a sharp pain.

Back in the palace, Roxas and the others were greeted by the other members highly concerned. Roxas faintly remembers Jasmine trying to help Roxas walk, then Axel asking Zexion conjure up a healing potion or salve. No one asked them about meeting the Faceless Women; besides it being obvious how it went, Roxas was the one who suffered the most wounds and thereby has the most information.

Gritting his teeth, Roxas wedges the flat of his knife blade under the crossguard and forces it up. Roxas screams into his teeth as the pain races through his, making everything go black for a moment. But he keeps pushing, as hard as he can, until the hilt lifts from his skin enough for him to grip his fingers around it. Attached to the bottom of the hilt is the blade as thin as a needle.

Roxas gags, grasps the hilt in his fingertips, and pulls one last time. This time, the needle-point blade comes free. It's as long as his littlest finger and smeared with his blood. He ignores the blood running down his arm and holds the hilt and the needle up to the lantern light above the sink.

Judging from the blue dye in his arm and the needle-point blade, the faceless woman must have injected him with something. But What? Poison?

Roxas shakes his head. If she wanted to kill him, she would've just stabbed him. Whatever she injected Roxas with must not have gone into effect thanks to Genie's powers.

Someone knocks on the bedroom door. Roxas doesn't know why – this door is open after all.

"Roxas, you in there?" Luxord's muffled voice asks.

"Yeah." Roxas calls back. He puts the needle blade at the edge of the sink.

He hears the door of his bedroom open and the footsteps approach the bathroom. Pushing aside the curtain Luxord enters, his skin clean and free of blood smears. Roxas almost feels the same as if he was naked in front of him with the difference of their skin. Despite Genie's healing session, Roxas still feels bruised and battered. Luxord looks from Roxas to the needle-point blade in his hand to the line of blood running from Roxas' shoulder to his wrist.

"Gross." He says.

"Wasn't paying attention," Roxas says. He sets the blade down and grabs a paper towel, mopping up the blood on his arm. "The others say anything to the Princess and Sultan yet?"

"Aladdin told them the story, but they're more eager to hear yours." He says smiling. "Wait, you yanked that out of your own arm?" he points to the needle. "By the gods, Roxas. Do you have no nerve endings or something?"

"I think I need a bandage."

"You think?" Luxord shakes his head. "You should get some ice for your face, too."

Roxas touches her jaw. It is tender where the faceless woman struck him – he'll need another healing session and put healing salve on it so it doesn't bruise.

"Zexion have some salve I could use?" Roxas asks.

"Why bother. I say let it bruise; apart from your wound, it'll show the other members the fight you put up." Luxord says.

"A fight I ended up losing." Roxas growls fisting his hands.

"Roxas it's not like anyone's going to degrade you because of it." Luxord assures, perching on the edge of the sink. "You've been through enough and have proven enough to show that we shouldn't."

"I know, it's just . . . something I keep expecting. Force of habit." Roxas frowns as he presses a clean towel to his shoulder to stop the bleeding. He glances up at his reflection. His jaw is swollen, and fingernail marks are still on his arm. Disgusting.

"You didn't even lose, boy. You killed two Faceless members. People say that no one can even land a touch on them." Luxord cheers.

"I'm concerned about what they plan to do with the bodies." Roxas says slowly. "Agrabah doesn't have enough doctors, let alone educated ones – that know what to do with them."

"And you think we do? What do yu expect them to do?"

"I don't know. Examine them and then trace it back to family members, then connect that to when she was last scene before joining the Faceless. Just _something_." Roxas says. "And worst part is, I don't know if I've just doomed us, or earned us a sanctuary."

"Huh?"

"The Faceless said that they won't forget what I've done. Being it was very vague, I can only imagine what their true meaning is." Roxas says. He picks up the needle. "I don't know what their tactics are, or their flaws, their weaknesses."

"You've manage to do the unthinkable. I'm sure they can't just kill you since it'd be a waste of . . . talent." Luxord words.

Roxas snorts.

"Well I tried. But, unfortunately, the Sultan is a madman and it has turned into a madhouse out there. He has the guards on triple duty and performing rounds around the castle at fifty miles an hour." Luxord says.

"Great." Roxas sighs. "No doubt our welcomed invitation is expired. We'll need to leave my morning."

"Roxas, you just faced off against an allegedly highly skilled group of assassins who people thought were untouchable. Rumored to even be beings or spirits. You've at least proven their human. More importantly, you've proven they're capable of being defeated."

Roxas forces a smile.

"Now, let's go get you a bandage." Luxord says.

They exit Roxas' room and Luxord leaves Roxas in his room as he fetches a servant to patch him up. After going through several wet towels to just stop the bleeding, the servant girl Luxord managed to bring, she rubs a small bit of antiseptic ointment before placing a folded piece of gauze over the wound and wraps some bandages around it and secures it with a tight knot. She takes it upon herself to inspect Roxas' shoulder wound; of which has already been healed – stitches removed and skin disinfected – but with the bump she just wanted to make sure it didn't tear open. Thankfully everything turns up okay, just bruised.

Shrugging on his jacket, Roxas follows Luxord down the white tiled hallway. When they enter the giant throne room, the first thing catching Roxas' eye is the throne chair itself it shaped like a giant gold elephant with the seat in between the tusks. The room is circular and has thick rounded columns supporting it, and opening up to a balcony bordering all around. The mosaic tiles reflect off silhouettes and still has the familiar and detailed chisel designs of a flower. A long and wide red carpet stretches from a giant set of double sapphire doors

The Sultan paces in front of the throne chair with an expression a mixture of concern, anger and determination. His hat flops everywhere and his blue feather keeps drooping in his face. Roxas can't help but laugh as he looks like an overweight child with the exaggerated way he stomps.

Demyx, Axel and Vanitas aren't present yet, only the two remaining guards Genie managed to salvage from the blooshsed. Genie himself is standing off to the side with Abu and Yago while Aladdin and Jasmine are with the Sultan as he converses with the guards. Luxord leaves through the way they came and while the Sultan notices Roxas' presence, he simply nods in acknowledgement and carries on. Roxas, not wanting to interrupt the conversation stands off next to one of the tusks, leaning his back against the wall and folding his arms. He props up his foot against the wall and extends out his left hand, admiring the gold band on his finger. He listens to the conversation for a good few minutes before Axel, Vanitas and Demyx are escorted into the room.

They notice Roxas, but none make advancement towards him as they don't want to bypass the invisible line the Sultan has worn into the tile and interrupt his concentrated pacing. It's like there's an invisible wall cutting them off, and Roxas is on the inside with the crowd. The Sultan dismisses the guards and they retire to their chamber; the large blur doors closing behind them with a harsh _bang_.

"Oh, this is most disturbing." The Sultan says. "I'm not too sure I feel comfortable with you running out into the marketplace, Jasmine."

"Father, please don't be irrational." Jasmine argues. Roxas is astonished to see her seriousness of not wanting to leave the marketplace, even when there are merciless assassins roaming her kingdom. He can't determine if it's determination or stupidity. But then again she is a woman, perhaps they would spare her. "Locking me up in the castle isn't going to stop them." Jasmine continues.

"I'm just trying to protect you! These are dangerous individuals, Jasmine. And I don't want to have my only daughter die at the blade of those radicals. Maybe if I increase the patrols around the marketplace -!" he suggests.

"Sultan, they managed to cut down all of your forces with little to no effort. These women are strong, and frankly they don't mess around." Aladdin says. "If it weren't for Roxas, I'm sure those last two wouldn't be alive."

"That's horrible." Jasmine gasps.

All eyes briefly turn to Roxas as he keeps his eyes downcast, his head only looking up when his name is mentioned; being too caught up in his own thoughts.

Vanitas had mentioned before of many kingdoms and even small towns falling under the influence of the Faceless, their cause and beliefs easily winning over the women of each as well widowed men. Now with that in mind, it wouldn't be a surprise if they had found out about Roxas and his band of rebels wanting to join their faction. Whether the fact of him being on the run, as well as the former son of a ruthless guildmaster will waver their choice is still left to be debated. They had said he had skill, admitted they want nothing but the best. But even if Roxas can turn his secret vigilantly into something he can use to win favor of the Faceless, he can't afford to have his secret revealed to any of the other rulers of any other kingdom.

More importantly, he can't give them the suspicion that the Faceless might be following them as well as Cloud, which makes Roxas queasy with nervousness. Each question he tries to answer is only turned around with something the Faceless might pull and he's back to where he started. One thing's for sure, until he's come face to face with an answer – irony in of itself – he can't afford to trust anyone, nor let his track record endanger a family or village.

"Your majesty," Axel chimes. "If I may suggest, maybe it would be best if you try and find out what it is they want before you go charging in the van."

"How so?"

"The Faceless work like any other assassin group of thief guild. They look to build their reputation, and they did say that they're looking for new members." says Demyx.

"You think they may want to try and recruit some of the villagers?" the Sultan asks.

"Not exactly, the one thing they care about most is their reputation and respect." Vanitas says. "They want to entice fear into your villagers, possibly make them turn against you and show you in a state of weakness. They want to degrade you so that the villagers will be more trusting to them rather than their own Sultan."

"That's preposterous! My people have trusted me for years. How could one simple group change their opinions?" The Sultan interrogates.

"It's like you said, your majesty. These women are strong and capable of taking down your guards like their tissue. That fear can easily manipulate your people quicker than you think." Axel says.

"He's right, father." Jasmine agrees. "Remember Jafar?"

"Oh dear, I'm sure you're right. But what am I do if my own guards can't protect them?" the Sultan debates.

"Well, Roxas seemed to handle them well. He even managed to kill one of them." Aladdin says.

Roxas snaps his head at attention with wide eyes and a stern expression. All their heads snap to Roxas. He swallows back his nerves. "It's merely what I was taught as a child. My father wanted to make sure I would always be able to protect myself."

"Well he's a smart man." The Sultan laughs. Roxas feels a bitter taste in his mouth as he shakes his head and turns his head downcast.

"Oh, my boy! Perhaps you can possibly teach my men how to fight like you?" the Sultan chippers as he toddles over to Roxas, his clothes jingling with either jewelry or keys or coins.

"I'm afraid that's impossible, your majesty." Roxas suddenly rejects. "We're leaving at dawn tomorrow morning."

"What?!" everyone simultaneously - except for Vanitas and Axel say together.

"You heard me. I can't afford to have my men under the blade of these women. We leave at dawn, no exceptions." Roxas pushes off the wall and readies to walk away when the Sultan hurries in front of him.

"Oh please, son. I'll gladly pay you for your services." The Sultan persuades. "I really need someone like you to help my guards."

"I don't think you'd want them learning what I know." Roxas says.

"Please boy, I'm begging you."

"Your majesty, I'd hate to leave in your time of need, but just trust me, it'll be a lot better once we leave." Roxas says.

"Please, if you'll just stay and we can discuss this -"

"_I said no_!" Roxas suddenly yells. His voice is harsh and echoes throughout the room with a razor sharp edge that could cut convince. He immediately clamps his mouth shut and sighs, rubbing his eyes. "I'm sorry, i-if you'll just excuse me." Roxas stutters.

He needs to get out because his eyes are irrationally watering and anger is wavering inside him like magma inside a volcano, and one small drop of a rock can cause him to erupt. He carefully pushes past the Sultan and makes his way towards two columns on the east side of the room with a pale blue curtain dividing the rooms.

He can hear the jingling of the Sultan but quick footsteps come after him and Roxas can hear Demyx's voice apologizing to the Sultan about Roxas' and explaining some bullshit on how he's been through a lot lately and how he's still recovering from old wounds. Whether the terminology applies to physical or emotional, either way, Demyx isn't wrong. Roxas can easily come up with a sob story involving the Faceless if and when he returns to the Sultan to apologize.

The clapping of bare feet on the floor runs up to Roxas before he feels Aladdin lay a hand on his arm. It's not an aggressive move, really, but with his emotions raging and his instincts taking over, Roxas reacts defensively to any unfamiliar touch. Roxas jerks his arm free and takes off running down the halls. Behind him, there's the sound of chatter, but he doesn't stop. His mind runs through all of the potential secluded places the palace could have, and instead of his room, he winds up in the palace courtyard, wedged into the corner of an enclosed bird pavilion.

They chirped aggravated at first by his presence, scuttling into flurries of white feathers when he entered. Ignoring the ringing in his ears caused by their exasperation, he plopped to the floor and hugs his knees to his chest.

After three minutes, they have now grown used to his presence and have reduced their chirps to pleasant chimes and even settle on his shoulders, tickling at his ears and preening the tips of his hair. A couple of them nibble on the toes of his boots, and a small twitch sends them scattering.

Through the expanse of minutes, two to three birds settle on his left shoulder, snuggling close to his neck and growing still as they fall asleep. Roxas remains as still as statue still with little movements to remind them that he is still living. Flicking his eyes up and glancing through the crosshatching of the cage's bars, he can see he's nearly three hours away from twilight. He could fall asleep here. The birds have accepted him quicker than anyone else before. As he carefully angles his head into one's small chest of feathers, he feels the bird scoot closer and tickle his cheek with its beak before ruffling feathers and snuggling down.

Roxas doesn't know how long he's in the pavilion, perhaps not even five more minutes when he starts to drift off, the doors open wide and the birds are scared into an outbreak of flapping wings and angry chirps. All but one bird that was resting on Roxas' shoulder fly off. The one that stays hops forward onto his knee as Roxas curls into himself. It chirps aggressively and leans forward with its wings outspread in a protective maneuver.

"Of all the places, you had to pick one that makes the most noise." Vanitas' voice speaks. Roxas doesn't even hold back the glare on his face, nor does he suppress the feeling of disappointment when he finds it isn't Axel that came to find him.

"You didn't have to come. I would've gone back to my room." Roxas bickers.

"No you wouldn't have." Vanitas counters.

Roxas bites his lip, trying not to smile as he watches the birds constantly peck and nibble at Vanitas' clothes and hair; resulting in Vanitas swatting them away, resulting in more pecking. They sit together in an almost comfortable silence as the birds start to grow used to Vanitas being with Roxas in the pavilion. Roxas gently pets the crown of a bird that landed on his knee.

If Roxas recalls properly, he and Vanitas haven't spoken since their hunting trip and Roxas anxiety attack. While Vanitas hasn't pushed anything further – try to kiss Roxas or talk about love, Roxas admits he misses his attention. He misses having someone to tell his secrets to.

Frankly, Roxas is still unsure on why he separates certain feelings when it comes to Vanitas and Axel. It's like he's dividing up who he tells what when it comes to them. And while it should be that he tells all his secrets to one, Roxas just doesn't think that either of them can handle everything he's thinking of. Sometimes one just understands better than the other; such as Vanitas knowing how to handle Roxas when he starts to go off into a panic state from being overwhelmed. But Roxas misses exchanging casual gestures and notions with Vanitas. How he calls Roxas babe, and the way they would work in perfect unison whether for hunting or taking care of a guild job. Even just getting into close contact with one another without it being confusing or awkward. Roxas so desperately wants to bring that back, but he doesn't know how or where to start. And he doesn't want Vanitas to keep coming back to him, that's unfair to both of them especially if he's using Roxas' unstableness as an excuse to forgive him. Roxas still makes mistakes, and a simple "disorder" shouldn't always excuse him from using common sense. Plus, Vanitas has no reason to be upset with Roxas for always choosing Axel as his feelings were declared to him before. Nor should he let his jealousy let him control on how he treats Roxas.

He could use that against Vanitas, but he wants so badly to have his friend back that he just wishes they could kiss and make up. But they can't.

"So I came up with a story for the Sultan. I honestly think you'd be quite proud of it." Vanitas finally speaks.

"And how would that story go?"

"Well, it starts when you were a little boy." Vanitas starts and the two share a soft chuckle. "No, but seriously; the story goes that your parents were brutally killed by the Faceless, and you have since set out to destroy any member you come to, but they've turned you into a fugitive, and have turned you into the hunted."

"Not bad."

"Thought of it myself." Vanitas smiles. Roxas kindly laughs as he shakes his head.

The chirping becomes the main sounds for another minute. "Do you think things can go back to the way they were?" Roxas then asks.

"I wish." Vanitas answers. The reply makes Roxas' heart sink. "I mean, I can try. But we can't deny that I have feelings for you."

"I'm not asking you to. Just to accept what is." Roxas says. "There are things more important than romance and love."

"Yet you and Axel seem to manage to squeeze it into everyday activities."

"What are you more worried about, Vanitas?" Roxas challenges. "Losing me, or having me forget about you?"

"One of those two."

"Clever." Roxas rolls his eyes.

"I like to think so."

Sighing, Roxas finally stirs from his little spot and reaches out his hand. He manages to take Vanitas' cheek and angles him close before fitting their lips together. Roxas can feel Vanitas go rigid but relax as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Roxas can feel Vanitas' arm wrap around his torso and pull him closer.

Almost too quickly, Roxas pulls back and licks the corner of his mouth. "Tell me, would you forget about that?" he whispers.

Vanitas grunts and bites his bottom lip. "No. Never." He leans in for another one, but Roxas leans away and cups Vanitas' face.

"Well it's the same for me. I could never forget about you. I can't forget about your touch, your voice when you whisper to me. I can never forget you. So don't think that because I have someone, that I'll just shut you out of my memory."

Vanitas exhales through his nose but he presses his face into Roxas' hand. "Look, I . . . I never said I wasn't happy for you. I was, unrightfully jealous. But I can learn to get over it."

Relief courses through Roxas, giving him a similar feeling like adrenaline as a small weight lifts off his shoulder. He smiles and gathers Vanitas in a hug, laughing. Vanitas makes funny choking sounds, but he's still laughing too as he returns Roxas' hug.

"Thank you." he hears Roxas whisper into his hears with a smile on his lips.

For the first time, Roxas feels genuinely happy since Axel had given him the ring. His heart stops for a second when he thinks of Vanitas seeing the ring, but if he were to get upset with it, then the entire conversation was completely contradicted.

Roxas settles next to Vanitas, the two of them sitting together in the pavilion while bird's settle on their shoulders, knees and hands. Knowing that he has to try and get some form of rest, Roxas allows them both to stay for another ten minutes before heading off back to bed.

The only reason being he wants everyone asleep when he goes back to his room.


	10. Chapter 9

Roxas washes his face with a sweet soap smelling of vanilla; imagining he's scrubbing away all the troubled pains and grime, leaving his skin new and squeaky clean. He imagines cleaning away the old layer of skin, revealing a new and rejuvenated face that hopefully doesn't look so sleep deprived or malnourished.

He strips off his clothes, and pulls on thin, satin night clothes and climbs into bed. It takes about five seconds for him to realize he'll never fall asleep. And he needs sleep desperately because he and the men are leaving most likely within a small handful of hours. Also any moment he gives into his fatigue, the Faceless or his father can and will use it to their advantage as an invitation to his death.

But it's no good. Ten minutes, twenty, thirty pass, and Roxas' eyelids refuse to get heavy. Despite everyone's assumption, even his own, Roxas can't seem to find sleep. Even if he's smoothed over the terrain of Axel and Vanitas as best he can, he still can't stop imaging the members of the Faceless all gathered at a round table where they're discussing Roxas' fate.

The more anxious Roxas is to find sleep, the more it seems to elude him. The moment he closes his eyes, the more his imagination conjures up a fantasy of a Faceless sneaking into his room and slitting his throat. Finally he gets too restless to stay in bed. Roxas paces the floor, heart beating fast, breathing too short. With bare feet he opens wide the doors to the balcony. Roxas walks all the way out and leans out on the stone railing. He sighs and gazes at the sky.

"Boy, and I thought I was blue." A voice speaks. His nerves prickling, Roxas spins around, pulling out his dagger and spinning the blade outwards. "Whoa! Easy! I come in peace!" Genie pleads as she cowers into himself.

"Oh, Genie. Don't scare me like that." Roxas says.

"Hey, don't have to tell me twice when you have a dagger like that. It's a nice dagger, very nice dagger. Interesting nuptial accessory. It's a, uh, a bit sharp." Genie stutters.

Roxas gives a small chuckle. "Thanks. It's kind of like my Old Reliable." He sheathes his dagger and gazes back out over the balcony. "I don't suppose you have a magical sleep spell, would you? I can't seem to get any sleep."

"Well I do have some special tea I created. Although the fish don't seem to like it." Genie says and Roxas looks to find him holding a glass bowl filled with goldfish with their bellies upturned and floating at the top. Roxas sighs and turns away.

"Something else bugging you, buddy?" Genie asks. "By the way, that reminds me, what is your name? The suspense is killing me!"

"I'd rather not." Roxas denies.

"_Ohhhh_!" Genie stretches out the word with different note of curiosity. "A mysterious type, I like that. Oh those kinds of guys are always the most fun. Not to mention a real lady killer." Genie nudges Roxas with his elbow.

Roxas twitches a corner of his mouth, but the attempt doesn't seem to satisfy Genie.

"Look I can guarantee you that not one of those Faceless women are getting into this palace. Security's tight! No big crowd! Immediate family only! Not one lowlife, other than that parrot of course." Genie says. "Observe!"

Roxas watches as he clicks on a square piece of possible plastic, and a double beeping of notes sounds. There's the sound of metal and machinery cranking and the balcony vibrates Roxas grips the railing with clawed fingers as he watches a piece of the floor dip inwards, revealing the outline of a large and wide circle. A thick line splits it in half and open wide to reveal a deep hole.

Steam bursts from it and Roxas can hear a soft hum grow louder and louder; watching as a giant weird machine with Genie's features rise up from the gullet. The eyes are one long oval with a red dot gliding back and forth. It has the forked feet of a bird, dominated by angles and squares. But what really scares Roxas are its small arms, armed with what appear to be advanced form of guns; three muzzles on each and the machine glares at Roxas.

"_You have violated the perimeter of the Agrabah palace_." The machine speaks. Something pops up on the guns, and Roxas hears them shuffle and click. "_Prepare to be vaporized. Thank you_!"

Roxas ducks low just as the machine fires, and Roxas can feel a strange sense of heat trim off the ends of the hairs on the back of his neck. Pushing to his feet, Roxas can hear the sizzling of the curtains as holds have been burned though them completely. Even the concrete of the tower itself have the same sized holes.

"Armed, and dangerous!" Genie chants.

"Well, that thing just instills me with confidence." Roxas sarcastically speaks.

"Aw come on Roxas, give a smile or something! I -!"

"Wait," Roxas pauses, glaring at Genie. "How did you know my name?"

Genie pauses for a moment and nervously giggles. "Uh, how do I now know your name? I'm a mystic being with phenomenal, cosmic powers."

"Still, you're not a mind reader, nor do you have the reason to poof up any of my personal history unless you needed to, or you don't trust me." Roxas snarls as he takes steps closer to Genie.

"Okay, okay. Old up there jimmy boy." Genie copes. "Now I will admit, I did snoop through a bunch of old documents as well as traditional family recopies, of which I think ought to be made into its own book. I did find you have an interesting track record, with there being more tracks than in Grand Central Station."

"What's that?" Roxas asks.

"Nevermind. But look, you can trust me, after all. It's obvious I haven't told Aladdin or the Sultan yet."

"I suppose that's true. But that still doesn't explain your motivation for looking me up." Roxas defends.

"Well I wanted to try and find out where you learned your crazy ninjitsu, Kung Fu Panda, type moves, and one thing led to another and then I found out you have a very checkered past. And the rest I managed to piece together on my own. Except for this piece . . ."

Roxas looks to find Genie standing in front of a large green chalkboard on wheels with a puzzle pieced together except for one piece of which Genie questionably holds in his hand.

"No matter which way I turn the thing, it can't seem to fit! I'm pretty sure it has something to do with those jagged edges, but unfortunately it's all I have left."

Roxas sighs and lowers his defense when he realizes Genie isn't going to be a threat of any kind, nor will he expose Roxas since he has nothing to gain from it. Plus Roxas can't seem to kill him should he tell on Roxas, given he's an immortal magical being.

"So, if you're not going to tell on me, what are you going to do?" Roxas asks.

Genie looks away from the chalkboard and Roxas finds him holding his chin while wearing a pair of large glasses with a white mustache below the nose. "Well, what I do with all outlaws of the land who happen to be friends with my former master." Genie swoops in a circle and in a pall of smoke comes out wearing a suit with a ruffled front and a black bow. "Will you be having the chicken or the sea bass?"

Roxas sighs and leans his hip against the balcony and folds his arms.

"What I want is to be free." Roxas mumbles. A big blue hand holds his shoulder and he looks up to find Genie with a compassion look on his face.

"I know that feeling. Unfortunately I don't know how to get you to it."

"You could, if you were still granting wishes. Or maybe you still can. You do a lot of other things." Roxas reminds.

"It's not that simple Roxas. If I had that kind of power, can you imagine the chaos that would come? Plus, is I did kill any outlaw, Aladdin's father would be dead right now."

"What?"

"Al's father is the King of a wide group of Thieves known in his area." Genie informs. "And really, I kind of view him the same way I view you."

"I suppose that's a good thing." Roxas says.

"Also I can tell you're trying to escape your old life and start anew. Al did something similar, but not to the extent of yours." Genie says.

"Hm, no one has. Not only has my father disowned me for being a disappointment, but he's also placed a bounty on my head as well as having the Faceless on my tail."

"I thought you hated the Faceless, otherwise why fight them?" Genie asks.

"I actually want to join them. They're the only other faction that threatens my father. And with their reputation growing, I'm confident that my men will only be safe once we find their headquarters." Roxas says. "I just hope they trust me long enough until we make it there."

Genie rubs Roxas' shoulder and steps in front of him. "The men do trust you, Roxas. You just have to believe in yourself as their leader."

Roxas looks up at Genie, then back down and turns around with doubt overrunning his composure. Genie bites his lip and turns away before he snaps on a smile.

As Roxas stares out far beyond, he hears a soft voice behind him. No doubt it's male, but it's clipped and posh and talks in an old-fashioned way. "Listen to Genie, dear. Genie knows." Roxas turns to find Genie dressed as a woman, wearing a plaid skirt and white button-down under a pink sweater; a small bag on his arm and glasses on his face along with hair being white and in a style similar to what Roxas has seen grandmothers wear. "You've got to get your mind off this incised worrying."

Genie takes Roxas' hand and Roxas lets him. In a blink of an eye, they poof off of the balcony, and into the throne room surrounded by purple smoke, and a faint electric tingle shivering up Roxas' arms and legs. Roxas gazes around and finds the room empty.

"Now he's a surefire way to cheer up a bummed out rebel on the run." Genie parades. "A heaping helping of survival camp magic!"

Genie's hands spin in an odd angle so quickly Roxas can't see them, but when he aims his fingertips and gives them a slight jerk, pink lightning zips out of them. It stretches across the room and behind its tail, thousands upon thousands of objects and items appear in quick snap fashions.

Horses with carriages brand new and polished and freshly groomed hair. Crates stuffed with hay straw cushion clothe folded neatly inside made of fabrics Roxas has and has never seen before, in multiple shades of each color. The fabrics soft and smooth with limited texture and some lined with fur for the upcoming winter. A metal rack with wheels holds multiple different cloaks of dark shades and even mannequins wearing armored leather uniforms or sporting new weapon holsters for bows, guns, swords, staves, and knives. This bringing Roxas' attention to the weapons Genie had poofed up. Bows made of wood, plastic and metal and materials he can't even name. Arrows with feathers cut in flawless uniform lines. Then boxes upon boxes of firearms, launchers, explosives, shields and armored uniforms appear at his side and Roxas carefully walks through them.

In addition, just some other useless junk such as large bouquets of exotic flowers and wreaths in the shape of hearts and square presents wrapped in colored paper topped with bows. Candles and gold candelabrums and innumerable plush sofas and chairs.

Along with the clothing and weapons, Genie also brought up some food. But not just simple food, but tables laden with delicacies lining all along the walls. Everything Roxas can think of, sit there ready for devouring. Whole roasted pigs and cows and goats still turning on spits over live fires. Huge platters of fowl stuffed with fruits and nuts. Grilled meat seasoned with spices and dripping with delicious juices. Vegetables still settled in whicker baskets and a huge tureen overflowing with fresh fruits.

If only his father could see him now. Unfortunately, Roxas knows he can't afford to carry all of this. Not to mention he and the men need to maintain their level of discreet and anonymity amongst others or when in the woods.

As Roxas passes by a huge bush of lily flowers, Genie – now wearing a carrot colored wig and top hat and smaller in size, pops up from the bouquet and hands Roxas a handful of the lilies. Roxas takes a step back, but for some reason catches Genie when he hops out into Roxas' arms. Roxas makes a disgusted face, ready to drop Genie as he makes a kissy face at him, but out of nowhere a long wooden hook comes out and latches around Genie's neck, yanking him back.

"Ah, that's no good. What you need it a wardrobe change." Genie comes up behind him, no taller than Roxas' thigh, with another strange accent and a green visor maintaining a mess of short, curly black hair.

Another comes up on Roxas' other side with big, bushy eyebrows and a thick mustache holding a cigar. "You also need a facial change so maybe you can learn how to smile. But I'll work with what I have."

"Hey!" Roxas yells.

Genie swirls up to normal size with a nervous laugh. "It's a joke, Roxas. I do that." His face drops instantly to completely unamused, but it's only for a second as he then swoops to Roxas right, now wearing a lopsided hat and a mustache where the top hairs point straight out. With his accent constantly changing, Roxas can't seem to pinpoint which comes from what.

"Okay, let's see." He takes a small statuette of a cupid and after observing it for ten seconds, tosses it out. "This'll be a brand new look for you."

He switches sides, his face normal as he presses the tips of his fingers to his temples in mimic thought.

"I'm thinking you need something a little more simple, a little more casual. And less black!" Genie snaps his fingers and with a magical whoosh, Roxas' silk nightclothes become his old guild uniform. Black tunic, black boots, black pants and black cape with the hood over his head and mask covering the lower half of his face. "You did it, done it, own it."

Genie takes the back of the cape in his hand and with a yank sends Roxas spinning like a top out of the clothes all together and back in his silks ones.

"I'm gonna throw some colors at you: Mauve, Teal and Salmon." Genie continues flamboyantly, the first two colors on folded sheets, but the last color being the actual salmon fish. "What do you like besides the salmon?" he then takes the fish and throws it away, having it slap against one of the many rounded column of the throne room.

Roxas can't help but smile and chuckle at Genie's animated personality, being all over the place and hyper as if he's devoured all of the sweets in Agrabah. And yet Roxas likes it as his amusing personality is what he seems to lack and miss in his life of darkness and despair.

Genie whooshes past Roxas. "Okay, Madonna! Don't keep it. Just put that in the mix. Wink!" Genie nudges with his elbow, and this time Roxas smiles. "Okay!"

Another puff of smoke, and the entire throne room is dark, and outlines of the designs on the walls as well as the throne chair are outlined in multicolored lights that flash and wave mechanically back and forth. Roxas gazes all around as he hears music emanate from nowhere and echo through the room.

"I see lasers! It's a miracle. He believes! He believes!"

Roxas gazes all around at the bright lights, wondering what kind of powerful candles are creating the light when Genie wafts up behind Roxas in wisps of pink and appears holding a lute, and wearing a bejeweled suit with weird hair that swoops up and back with a gleaming that looks like it has too much grease in it.

"Thank you very much." says Genie.

Roxas laugh quietly and shakes his head. "Uh, I don't think so."

Genie's black, greasy hair droops. He then zips up next to Roxas. "Tres goche, right?" then with a flick of his wrist the entire room, including the moonlight of the outside, goes completely dark, a single circle of light casting down upon Roxas and Genie.

"Hmm," Genie thinks. "Maybe you can elope? Nah, you can't-elope. But oh honeydew!" Genie laughs, suddenly pulls out a small pale blue colored pumpkin and chucks it across the blackness. It bounces once while is spurts glittering dust before popping loudly and morphing into a carriage. A door opens on its side as the vines become the wheels.

Roxas closes his eyes and when he opens them, there's more sparkling dust tickling his skin and he watches as his pajamas change before his eyes. White gloves cover over his hands as well as a cape flowing behind his back. His uniform is long-sleeved and sports puffy disks decorating them along with a white hood, and pants with a black choker around his neck. With a strange uncomfortable feeling on his feet, Roxas peers down to find his boots replaced with shoes made of glass.

"I don't know whether to put it under "Props" or "Produce." Genie says. Amazed at the magic, Roxas observes the carriage and reaches for one of the tires, when Genie flies up. "Please don't squeeze the tires, they're not ripe. And how about that outfit?"

Pointing his finger again, this time Roxas laughs as he feels the tickling of Genie's magic along his legs and arms. This time, Roxas laughs as he feels a red ribbon in his hair and finds it tied off in a bow. His pants are yellow and his tunic blue. The sleeves are short and puffy, azure in color, and sport several red teardrop-shaped symbols on them. There's a high white collar that connects to a red cape seemingly tied around his neck by a brown strip of cloth. His shoes are now boots once more, but gold colored now with a small bow on the front of each one.

Genie himself has changed into a red suit with a black bowtie, and he stands behind a small podium with glasses on, reading off of sheets of paper.

The chirping of birds draws Roxas' attention and he sees two blue birds have taken the corner of the cape and have lifted it to that it doesn't brush against the floor. Roxas takes two steps forward and finds two baby fawns, a rabbit and a squirrel at his feet. One of the fawns comes up and rubs his head affectionately against Roxas' leg.

"Whether you're dancing with dwarves, or simply biting the apple, it says I'm a prince here for now!" Genie says.

Roxas laughs overall, but the carefully bats away the birds as they become quickly irritating with their chirping around his head. "Uh, Genie."

"Hey, it's energy!" he says as everything returns to normal with a quick snap of his fingers. "The marketing guys are very excited to test really well."

Roxas laughs, unsure how long it's felt since he's had a good laugh since fleeing his city. "Thank you, Genie. I know this will all be greatly appreciated." Roxas says as he pats Genie's back. "And thanks for cheering me up; as well as keeping my secret."

Genie smiles and bashfully laughs. He then poofs out of sight and Roxas can hear the second poof behind him and turns to find Genie once again with different features of his face, and a small smoke pipe that actually billows out bubbles. "I'm surely bobbing the boy is on the road off to the city right now. Itdn't that right, Bob?"

Roxas leans to the side and finds a second Genie with more angled features and a red cap on, holding a putter.

"That's right Bing. How about this town, is it wild or what? It's like one giant sandtrap and me without my wedgie. Hey let's give a big hand for Brooke Shields!"

As the two different Genies converse with one another, Roxas stays up with them for another half hour before he finally feels heaviness infuse his eyelids. Genie follows him back to bed and Roxas doesn't mind. Even when Genie changes into a nanny outfit, complete with the grey hair pink sweater, Roxas lets him turn down his bed. Roxas crawls in between the sheets like a five-year-old and lets Genie tuck him in. Then Genie swirls away in a pink, sparkling cloud of smoke. Roxas wants him to stay while he sleeps. To be there when he wakes up. He wants to be under the protection of Genie, since he's one of the few people or, beings that could actually defeat his father.

In the morning, Roxas wakes to a warm colored sky and goes to the outer courtyard, rubbing his eyes. Genie had magically brought upon the group of rebels brand new wheelbarrows as well as much more fluffy bedrolls and thicker clothes, so maybe once they're a mile and a half outside the city, Roxas can fit in a long nap after they eat. He simply put together an outfit built from whatever clothes were sitting on top of the drawers. Genie had said something about Roxas doing a wardrobe change to make it easier for him and the group of survivors to elude his father. But really Roxas doesn't see a point since each of the members are distinctive enough to be recognized on their own.

When he walks out to the courtyard, though, he sees Axel.

Axel runs up to Roxas and folds the blonde carefully into his arms. Roxas breathes a sigh of relief. Roxas thought he had gotten to the point where he didn't need Axel anymore, but he doesn't think such a point actually exists. Roxas relaxes against him for a moment, and catches Vanitas' eye over Axel's shoulder.

"Are you all right?" Axel says, pulling back. "You're jaw . . ."

"It's nothing." Roxas says. "Just swollen."

"Talk about your defeat of the Faceless has already spread throughout Agrabah, and it's already reaching outside the limits towards other kingdoms."

"I'm not surprised. I'm more concerned about how the Faceless will come to their decisions." Roxas says. He pinches the bridge of his nose to relieve some of the pressure in his head. "I didn't manage to tell them that I wanted to join them, but hopefully somewhere in the chaos they'll think I had some potential."

"Some? Roxas, you've just proven to the entire world that these women are able to be stopped or killed. If anything you've tarnished their reputation completely."

"That's what I'm worried about. When did you guys get here?"

"About ten minutes ago. Genie sounded the alarm." Axel says. "Also, we also got word that Cloud and his men have broken through the mound of dirt we left them. They haven't been able to trace us, but hey, better safe than sorry."

"He's still _alive_?" Roxas says. He shouldn't be surprised, it's his father, and they never actually saw him die when they escaped, but Roxas just assumed – or perhaps it was wishful thinking; Roxas isn't sure how he feels. Disappointed, maybe, because he hates him for how he treated Axel and the men? Or how he tortured Roxas for disobeying orders and forcing him to kill Ventus? It's possible to feel both?

"Someone also said that Marluxia was seen with them." says Vanitas.

Roxas is not at all relieved to find out that Marluxia is still alive. "Where is he then?"

"Probably kissing the ass of your father no doubt. Or maybe he's just become the bitch of the guild."

"The men certainly need it." Roxas smiles. Still he shakes his head. "What a -"

He can't even think of a word strong enough to describe him. Apparently he still needs to expand his vocabulary.

Axel's face twists for a moment, then he nods and touches Roxas' shoulder. "Are you hungry? Want me to get you something?"

"Yes, please." Roxas says. "I'll be back in a little while okay? I have to talk to the Sultan."

"All right." Axel squeezes Roxas' arm and walks off, probably to get to the brand new wheelbarrow Genie poofed up for the group of survivors.

Vanitas and Roxas stand yards away from each other for a few seconds.

He approaches Roxas slowly.

"You okay?" he says.

"I might throw up if I have to answer that one more time." Roxas says. "I don't have a knife in my head, do I? So I'm good."

"Your jaw is so swollen you look like you have a wad of food in your mouth, and you just shot and killed two Faceless." Vanitas says, frowning. "I'm not allowed to ask if you're okay?"

Roxas sighs. He wants to talk about the Faceless and his father, but he doesn't want to do it here, with so many people around. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Vanitas' arm jerks like he was thinking of touching Roxas but decides against it. Then he reconsiders it and slides his arm around Roxas, pulling him to his frame.

Suddenly Roxas thinks maybe he'll let someone else take all the risks, maybe he'll just start acting selfishly so that he can stay close to Vanitas without hurting him. All he wants is to bury his face into Vanitas' neck and forget anything else exists.

"I'm sorry I didn't do enough to try and protect you." Vanitas whispers into Roxas' hair.

Roxas sighs and touches Vanitas' back with just his fingertips. Roxas could stand here until he goes unconscious from exhaustion, but he shouldn't; he can't. Roxas pulls back and says. "I need to speak with the Sultan. Do you know where he is?"

"He may or may not be coming down to give us a farewell. He told the guards to guide us to the gates."

"Do we really need it?" Roxas snorts.

"Beggars can't be choosers." Vanitas says.

Roxas nods and makes his way out of the courtyard and up to a large almost secondary house, and finds endless toys and small figurines. Stuffed animals and plush pillows chairs are scattered about and there's even a small replica of all of Agrabah, almost like a form of clock as two thin, long metal sticks poke out and tick left and right. Roxas finds the Sultan sitting on a chair stacking a bunch of small toy animals on top of one another. He giggles and claps happily every time a lion manages to stay balanced on the back of a giraffe.

The clicking of his boots attracts the attention of the Sultan first, and when he looks up, he immediately straightens out his posture and claps his hands. Roxas tries to fight a smile as he approaches the Sultan. Roxas gives him an apology that he thinks is overkill but in the Sultan's mind probably just manages to compensate for his breach of etiquette. To his credit, the Sultan accepts graciously. He says it's clear Roxas is under a lot of pressure, and he comments about the necessity of someone attending to the schedule only last five minutes. Really, Roxas got off easy.

Roxas admits that he should feel mot grateful to the Sultan seeing as how he sought to fitting one hundred and seventy-five survivors into his one palace, unknowingly holding a fugitive. Still, rather than expand on the subject, Roxas nods and bows his head in respect before following the Sultan back into the courtyard.

Axel is sitting with Lexaeus on the basin of the fountain, Aladdin and Xigbar standing near them while the others are scattered amongst the three new wheelbarrows; two of which can hold all of the supplies of the camp, leaving one half full with backsets and tied sacks of food; yet the size of the wheelbarrows seem like it'd be easier to pull, which it is. Roxas walks up and Axel smiles as he hands Roxas a cored apple and a bowl with a mixture of greens and vegetables. It's strangely filling for greens, Axel calling it a salad . . . ?

"Are you sure you don't want to stay another day?" Jasmine asks. "It wouldn't be a trouble."

"Thank you, your majesty, but I think it is best that we go." Roxas denies while watching Luxord tie off a knot to secure the barrow holding all of their food. "You've already given us so much, and I don't really know how to repay you. But I promise that if or when we do come back, I will be more than happy to show your men a few things."

A puff of smoke swirls behind Aladdin and up comes Genie dressed as a thief with a black cowl and cape and a small wooden dagger in his hand. "Don't worry everyone. Genie, the Shadow Thief, will protect this city!"

"We're doomed." Yago says as he face palms himself.

"Oh!" another poof and Genie is normal. "Before I forget, you need a new wardrobe young man!"

Roxas laughs as he finishes the bowl of salad as well as the apple. Taking a sip of one of twenty new canteens with fresh water, Roxas then stands and follows Genie's instructions on where to stand. He peeks at Roxas through his thumbs and forefingers in the shape of a square.

When Roxas is in place, Genie snaps again and this time his own attire is that of a tailor complete with a pincushion bracelet and measuring tape around his neck. Behind Roxas is a panel fit for changing and has a few pieces of clothing draped over it.

"Okay, now first! – that tunic and pant combo is much to third century! That blackness color what are we trying to say, Darker? No! Let's work with me here."

He zips around Roxas in a fast notion, first measuring the length of Roxas' arms, but at the third roundabout, the tape somehow ends up as a bow on the front of Roxas' chest. The crew watch anticipated as Genie mumbles to himself in yet another accent. Genie then pulls on the tape downwards like a zipper and with flickers of purple lightning, Roxas' clothes dissipate and materialize brand new.

The crew all give a collective gasp at how new Roxas' clothes look; though to him there really is no difference as they're sure to be covered with blood in a matter of days, making a mental note of the still good pieces of clothing he purchased at the marketplace.

"Oh! I like it! Very Macho!" Genie says as he cuts a loose string from the end of Roxas' sleeve.

Roxas turns around to face the mirror and finds himself a brand new man. The first noticeable thing is the colors. They are warm and rather earth-toned in complete contrast to Roxas' usual dark clothing. He wears a short-sleeved, beige colored tunic with string tassels on the collar, and a brown sash around his waist. Over the shirt is a light brown jacket with a high collar and his fire tattoo emblem on both shoulders, the front left pocket, and when he turns around, on the center of the back; gleaming in a holographic style. Then surprisingly, it's accompanied with a pair of white pants and dark brown leather boots that reach up to his knees.

"What do you think?" Genie asks.

"It's . . . impressive." Roxas says.

He looks, very simply, like a boy. An average everyday boy, a young one at best. Innocent. Harmless. It's almost shocking that Genie managed to pull this off considering Roxas' blood-covered past.

"Hmm, still needs something. What does it say to me? It says: Way of Self Defense!" says Genie.

Roxas watches as Genie poofs up behind him, and then with a wavering of his hands and a weird sound similar to the chiming of bells, Roxas watches as multiple belts and straps appear across his chest and around his waist.

It takes the form of a body harness encompassing below the neck. Roxas can see several knives hidden on the straps, three of which are completely unnoticeable with his jacket. One knife sits perfectly on his belt, another on his side and on the right suspender. A small rope with a retractable grappling hook, dual long ebony fighting knives – which are shorter than swords, arguably called long knives – and even a dagger with a wrist sheath. He can see his pistol in the mix of it all and feels a small belt pocket with reloadable ammo, and even a brand new quiver of deadly arrows with interchangeable arrowheads, and an archery glove fit for his left hand.

Though it the ensemble should feel well over forty pounds, Roxas doesn't feel any weight at all. In fact, he feels normal. But now more like a walking arsenal.

"Wow. Thank you, Genie." Roxas breathes in astonishment.

"Just one more thing."

"More?!" Roxas says.

"Give him anything more and he won't be able to keep up." Demyx chimes with laughter.

"Just a little something to keep you and your weapons warm." Genie smiles. Another point at Roxas and he feels a thick fabric brush against his skin. Looking back at the mirror, Roxas finds a cloak around his shoulders. The hem of the cloak falls to waist with the fire emblem on the back. At first he is worried that it will be a perfect bull's-eye for the enemy guilds, but still realizes that the emblem itself is still widely unknown.

This is a very calculated look, as the hood hides all of Roxas' weapons, while giving off the impression he is a normal boy walking the streets of any other kingdom. It is then Roxas realizes that nothing Genie designs is arbitrary.

"There! Now you're all set!" Genie hollers with glee. "Now, move around. Make sure everything feels comfortable."

"How can he with ninety pounds of weapons on him?" Vanitas comments.

Roxas is honestly afraid to move as he's worried that the moment he takes a step, the weapons' weight will send him toppling and wobbling like a baby deer just learning how to use its legs.

But when he walks around, everything feels normal; almost as if there are no weapons at all. He walks, runs in a circle, swings his arms about and even does a quick routine of flips, leaps, jumps and a handstand to test the stability of the weapons so that they don't fall out of their sheathes. "Yeah, everything fits perfectly." Roxas says.

"That's incredible." Axel breathes in astonishment.

Roxas looks at the men and finds them all gazing in amazement and envy at the difference. Conceding enough, Roxas can't seem to take his eyes away from the reflection of a boy he sees. So innocent, yet harboring a dark secret and deadly skill. No one would suspect such a sweet and innocent face to harbor such terrible secrets. Fixing his hair and pulling the hood up over his head, Roxas turns to the crew and smiles.

"Thank you, Genie. For everything." He says, hoping Genie catches on to the more than grateful gesture and he does.

Normally Roxas isn't a hugger, but when Genie sniffles and his eyes widen to puppy dog look, he lets Genie envelop him and sway him from side to side, a laugh even escaping Roxas' lips.

He sets Roxas down and keeps a hand on his shoulder. "Stay safe out there." Genie says.

"I will." Roxas nods.

The men shove off once they make it to the outer wall of Agrabah, sparing the guards a nod of appreciation and start their trek forward. Roxas let some of the men take at least four horses and one storage carriage, of which Demyx drives, while Axel, Vanitas and a couple other members ride the stallions.

"When did you and Genie becomes friends?" Vanitas asks as he pulls the horse close to the wheelbarrow.

Roxas shrugs. "Eh, he just grows on you."

Accepting the answer, Vanitas steers the horse away and trots up next to the front end, chatting with Demyx.

Roxas sits on the wheelbarrow that holds the bedrolls and lies on his back, his knees dangling over the edge. The sky has fluffy clouds in it and the clopping of the hooves is almost relaxing. He can hear Cid ask Demyx on how he can predict the weather, and Xigbar drops his head into his hands, shaking his head.

As Demyx launches into a description of the ritual he performs to bring rain, Roxas lets Demyx's voice, and Cid's voice, wash over him as he bites a small bit of an apple that rolled out of a sack and next to his head. Then, despite the clopping of hooves and roar of hundreds of conversations all around him, Roxas rests his hands behind his head and falls asleep.


	11. Chapter 10

**~Battle Dawn - Mercedes Lackey~**

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Within the peace of his mind, Roxas' imagination manages to conjure up a pleasant reverie as if to sustain the marvel before the rampant chaos of reality drives it away.

He's running through the deep green of the wild on horseback; with a pine-needle carpet and a blanket of stars overhead. He feels the cold air of the wide-open world, the breeze that sweeps from the mountain. He thunder through the trees with Ventus by his side, smiling, laughing, alive. No signs of injury, and the blood clean from his body. They stop in a wide meadow filled with spring blooms of white, yellow, pink and purple. Everyone is there: Vanitas, Axel, Demyx, Ventus. They have blankets and a bunch of food for a picnic among the blooms where the branches tinkle with wind chimes. They eat. They lie in the sun. Ventus laughs while Axel tries to throw a grape in the air and catch it with his mouth. Demyx strums pleasant notes on his lute. Ventus snaps off hanging vines and weaves a crown of flowers for Roxas as he lies with his head in Ventus' lap. Ventus speaks calm words and tickles Roxas' cheeks with the petals of the flowers. Roxas feels so warm and relaxed. He wishes he could just freeze this moment, right here, right now and live in it forever.

There's a drowsy in-between period when Roxas can hear the last few strains of Ventus' words although he's lost in the blooms. When Roxas finally awakens, he's momentarily comforted. There's a delicious feeling of happiness that is connected to Ventus. Happiness, of course, is a complete absurdity at this point.

Heaviness infuses his whole body, as if there's liquid lead in his veins. Roxas can still feel the bumps of the wagon and the clopping of hooves, but the pace is slower, and the sky is actually darker; the nighttime slowly pushing away the blueness of the sky. It's as if Roxas has lost the will to do the simplest tasks, to do anything but lie here, staring unblinkingly at the overhang of branches. Not wanting the others to realize he's awake, he lies motionless.

Then the carriage comes to a jerk stop, making Roxas jerk and jolt upright.

"Well, good morning." Xigbar says as he rounds the cart. Roxas can't stop the snarl that comes across his face from the disturbance. "We've traveled for the last five hours and now we're on the outskirts of The Kingdom of Hallows Eve."

Roxas rubs his eyes and stretches. "Okay." He says through a yawn.

Given they left Agrabah at the dawn, by now it is late evening and the sun is still shining, but slowly it's reaching to be a purple and orange mixture.

Demyx zips up to the side of the wheelbarrow while Roxas crosses his legs and rubs his eyes. "And, the best part is . . . we are right on time for their festival!" he cheers.

"What festival?" Roxas groans. Demyx hands him a canteen and a couple of apples.

"Their festival celebrating the Day of the Dead! Dressing up in costumes, going door to door for candy! Houses decorated with props and streams of colors! I think you can even get your face painted to look like a skeleton!"

"Hopefully we can use that to our advantage of cover." Roxas says as he stretches his legs.

"Hopefully we can get a lot more candy!" Demyx cheers.

"Didn't the tradition of wearing costumes originate from the ancient Celtic festival of Sawan; where the people would dress in drag or cattle hides to scare away angry spirits?" Roxas asks.

"No clue, but I want candy!" says Demyx.

"Be sure to double check it." Luxord says as he passes by.

"What?"

"People say that some of the candy has been poisoned and have actually killed some of the kids before." Luxord tells with a waggle of his fingers for effect.

"And you guys thought I was cruel." Roxas smiles as he folds his arms and leans against the side of the cart. Up ahead he can see Axel directing the men on where to statin their supplies.

"This coming from the boy who murdered tons of people?" Xigbar raises an eyebrow.

"I rarely ever killed kids. In fact, it was only once." Roxas says, his expression slowly turning grave as he flashes back to the bloodied, mutilated body of the granddaughter of Master Yen Sid, the master sorcerer of the King which Roxas milled while on a mission with his former father.

"Oh come on, you're just trying to scare me into giving my candy to you, Luxord, for "testing." Demyx air quotes.

"I'm just looking out for you, mate."

"Nice try, but I know you're lying."

"Actually, that isn't _entirely_ urban legend." Roxas interjects. All heads tur to him, and Demyx's pointer finger, of which was poised at Luxord, droops down. "There have been many documented cases of poisoned candy. The most famous dating all the way back to seventeen-hundreds, when a woman from the kingdom of the Seven Dwarves of Snow, mixed in arsenic tablets with her candy apples."

After seconds of silence, Demyx makes a look that depicts his horror. "Huh." He whimpers. "I'm going to go and refill my tab of joy, because you three are . . . Bum-mers!"

Demyx then zips off towards Zexion, tugging him by the wrist, and almost making Zexion topple the books he was enjoying. They walk towards the tall ebony gates that open wide mimicking the mouth of a monster.

"I wonder if Zexion likes Hallows Eve." Xigbar says. "He certainly has the attitude for it."

Roxas smacks Xigbar's arm as he gets down from the cart. "Stop. So his smiles are hard to come by. He does care for some people you know."

"I know." Xigbar wavers his hand.

Outside of the walls that guard the kingdom are the stables with different varieties of horse and lanterns that hand outside the house and on each posts of the stables. Roxas walks over to Axel as he helps Lexaeus gather the horses.

"Don't bother tying them to trees. We'll just take them into town."

"What about your bounty?" Axel asks as he steadies a stallion that's ebony black and with fur smooth and polished.

"It's the Day of the Dead Festival, people will be in costumes all around. No one will suspect us." Roxas assures. "Maybe if I keep my hood up, it won't arouse too much suspicion. Plus Hallows Eve is actually under the influence of the Wolf Guild." Roxas smiles as Terra approaches.

"Area's secure Roxas. I have some my men already preparing a place for all our stay; and a stable boy indebted to us has reserved a spot for the horses." Terra informs.

"Do they know of our situation?" Roxas asks.

"They knew a day after the fire to the mansion." Terra says. "Most of the men willingly and even eagerly wanted the end of Cloud, those that opposed out of fear of Cloud were sent away, blindfolded and left to navigate their way to other towns."

"You leave them out there on their own?" Axel asks.

"In a way it's their early pardon; that is until Cloud recruits them." Terra says.

As he speaks, a young boy about the age of fourteen with brown hair tied into a ponytail and wearing a dirtied green tunic and pants jogs up and offers Roxas a smile. "You must be Roxas," the boy speaks with a soft tone. He extends a hand and Roxas takes it giving it an appropriate shake. "It's such an honor to meet a man of your reputation, master."

Roxas gives a smiles as he nods his head. "Thank you, and please, don't call me master. I am not deserving of that title."

"Of course you are!" he insists. "You rebelling against your father and leading your own group for justice, that's worthy of the title as well as your skill in combat."

"I suppose." Roxas reluctantly agrees.

"I'll just take your horses and you all can enter the city." The boy says as he excitingly takes the leather reins and guides the horses over to the stables.

Vanitas walks up next to Roxas, shrugging a pack against his spine and sliding a dagger into its sheath. "Maybe your black clothes would've been a better." He smiles as he observes Roxas' new lightly colored clothes. Roxas rolls his eyes, but pulls the hood of his short cloak up over his head.

Terra and Vanitas take the lead while Roxas walks with Axel behind them, Roxas this time being the first one to interlock their hands together. The walk up to the gate already signifies the town's passionate love for their annual festival. Lampposts are black with a rotting, wilted tree façade overlaying the original; the mantle being replaced with a pumpkin bearing an evil and wide grimace with thin eyes. It grins widely at the travelers as they come up to the huge ebony gates and they open wide by themselves.

Following the twisty cobblestone road up a slope, walls supporting the houses of the main village come up on either side of them until they reach, what the locals call the Guillotine Plaza.

Guillotine Plaza is named after the deadly guillotine in the middle of the area. Some rumors say that it was here since the town was built, and used to execute the most notorious villain – and former guild leader – by the title Oggie Boogie. After the execution, his members scattered about to the different guilds, most willing to join Terra and his band of Wolves.

There is also a fountain full of green water that is said to be died with a special water-collaborating serum that leaves it running year-round, along with it having various ledges to climb on. Nearby there is a Graveyard that serves as a connection to the other places that Roxas never really had the chance to explore. The gates were knotted together in the center by a snakelike coil of chains. Through the iron rungs, Roxas glimpses a smattering of what looked like squat stone houses. Tombs, he thought. There were traditional gravestones, too. Slanted and flat-faced, they stood crooked amid patches of grass. The stones slid out of sight behind a wall as he continued to move forward.

The graveyard then leads to the Boneyard, which then leads to the Moonlight Hill; with a sundae swirl hill that has the phenomenal ability to uncurl in to take the party to the next area. Some say that it uncurls slowly, only becoming perfectly straight around the time of their annual festival.

Apart from their much anticipated festival, the town of Hallows Eve is said to be merciless and quite gruesome when it comes to dealing with crimes and the retribution of prisoners. The realization makes Roxas' heart pound so hard it hurts. The cruelty of their guards is legendary in fact. Some say they carve off pieces of their victims and feed it to the vultures bit by bit while the person bleeds and begs. Some say they know now to kill their victims with a single, deadly touch.

On his second-to-last trip with his father to Hallows Eve, they entered the city through an aisle of half-rotted human heads skewered on stakes. Five on one side, six on another. An entire band of Oogie's men who'd had the stupidity to try and assassinate the village's doctor.

What would they do to Roxas if they had found out about his origin or identity? Roxas' skin turns icy as he cranes his head around to observe his surroundings. He feels fingers slide into his and he first looks to his hand and then up to Axel. He smiles and leans in for what Roxas expects to be a nibbling on his ears, when Axel actually whispers softly.

"You're pale." He lips brush against the tip of Roxas' ear.

Roxas shudders and sighs. He lifts his head and straightens his back. He flicks his hood more over his head and keeps track of all the spots the men go.

Around them children are already dressed in costumes that mimic animals to witches to fairies to monsters. They run around with plastic pumpkin buckets and jingling with wrapped candies and flashlights. A small row of pumpkin buckets are already gathered in front of the fountain while children play amongst the tombstones and run around the fountain.

Vanitas has taken it amongst himself to wander over to the nearest inn while most of the other men decide to explore.

"It is rather amazing to see this town. I've only been to it one other time." Axel smiles as he gazes around.

"You've only been to Hallows Eve once?" Roxas asks, but quickly realizes his answers. "Oh, right. You go to town mostly on the shoreline."

To their left a trio of children knock on the door of a local and says, "Trick-or-Treat" in unison.

"Wonder where that came from?" Luxord asks as he stands next to Axel and Roxas.

"I was once told the phrase of 'Trick or Treat' evolved from the Fantasia practice of souling in which poor people would go door to door on All Saints Day looking for gifts of food and coin in returns for prayers for the dead."

"And believe me when I say just give the kids their candy." Cid speaks up. "Because believe me you don't want the trick. Trust me, I speak from experience."

The door opens and a woman wearing a neon pink wig and pointed hat answers and compliments the children's' costumes before handing them handfuls of tiny chocolate.

As the children thank her and scuttle down the steps, one of them, a young boy wearing a small cape and a foam dagger on his belt, bumps into Roxas' legs on his way. "Oh, sorry sir." He says.

"It's okay." Roxas smiles as he helps the boy regain balance.

The boy eyes him up and down and smiles, his two front teeth missing. "You look like a thief!" he says, and for a moment, everyone goes rigid until he continues. "I really like your costume!"

There's a collected sigh of relief, and as the crew moves on, Axel readies to move with Roxas, when he sees Roxas do something astounding. Roxas looks around as if checking to make sure no one spotted him, and then kneels down, covers one side of his mouth with his hand and leans in to whisper loudly to the child. "How did you see me?" he starts. "I'm supposed to be hidden in the shadows."

The boy laughs and shakes his head. "No, I can still see you."

Roxas gives a dramatic gasp. "Oh my gosh, you must be, like a master thief! I am honored to be in your presence." Roxas says with a bow of his head.

The boy laughs and shrinks into himself bashfully. Axel takes a few steps back and watches as Roxas converses with the young boy.

"Now you're not hurting anyone with that dagger are you?" Roxas asks.

"No," the boy says shakes his head.

Roxas nods. "Good. You've got to be careful with that thing, it can hurt a lot of people."

"Don't worry, I would never want to hurt another person." He says, and Roxas gives a gentle smile. "Be-Because if you hurt someone, then other people become hurt as well, and it's because they're sad from that persons getting hurt." The boy stutters.

Axel bites the inside of his lip, but his heart flutters as he watches Roxas speak.

"That's right." Roxas says, his voice almost quaking. "What's your name?"

"I'm Ben." The boy says.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Roxas asks.

"I want to be a warrior. Like a guard so that I can protect people!" the boy shouts, jumping in place with excitement.

"Wow! That's awesome! Are you going to train hard?"

"Yeah! I'm going to be the best guard in the whole world!"

"The whole world?!" Roxas exaggerates his shock. "That is truly amazing."

"And you can be my buddy, my sidekick." The boy smiles as he points at Roxas.

Roxas places a hand on his chest, just over his heart, and gasps. "I would be truly honored."

"Hey, you wanna play with me and my friends?" the boy asks.

"I would love to, but are you sure it's okay with your parents?"

"Is it okay with _your_ parents?" the boy repeats with smile.

Roxas bites the inside of his lip. "I . . . don't have parents."

"What happened?" the boy asks with a sorrowful expression.

"Uh, they just . . . split apart, and I didn't feel like I belonged with them." Roxas says. By now, two more children – a boy and a girl – come over to the boy and timidly say hello.

"This is Noah." Ben says pointing to a boy with a bed sheet draped over him and two eye holes staring back at him. Roxas assumes he's trying to be a ghost. "And this is Delia." Ben points to a girl wearing a pink dress and a tiara.

"Hello and nice to meet you, your majesty." Roxas says as he takes the girl's wrist. She smiles shyly and giggles.

"We were playing tag, you want to play?" Noah asks, speaking through his ghostly sheet.

"I would love to." Roxas smiles.

"Okay, you're it!" Ben loudly laughs as he and the other two scatter.

"What?!" Roxas laughs and he stands and jogs after the children as they run around the fountain and dart into the graveyard.

Axel smiles and leaves Roxas to play with the children and follows Xigbar into the inn. Inside, the air is warmer as a giant fire is located at the center of the entire room. Stretching straight across it is a metal rotisserie spit that has big to medium sized chunks of meat already rotating over the fire and filling the air with a delicious seasoned smell.

"Come in, come. I'm sure I've got a clean mug around her somewhere." The innkeeper says as she pauses from her duty of sweeping the wooden floor. There are tables bordering the walls of the inn, while three benches make up the perimeter of the fire pit, the fourth side has schematic carpeting and two chairs and a table. There's a staircase tucked away in one of the corners leading to the second floor where the bedrooms are located. A bard meanwhile plays a lovely tune lead by the panpipe.

Axel can already spot most of the members of the rebel group eating and chatting amongst one another as a serving wench walks around to refill their grails. As he saunters up to the bar with Lexaeus and Luxord, he can't help but smile at the thought of Roxas outside playing with the children. Running around the fountain and gathering them in his arms, laughing, happy. The thought warms him as the bartender slides him a bottle of ale. Luxord sits with his back to the bar, an elbow on the counter as he listens to the bard.

Axel is only halfway through his one bottle when Roxas comes into the inn and shuts the door behind him. He drops his hood as he comes in, unclasping the button and draping it across the vacant chair at Vanitas' table. He wanders over to Axel, who turns his chair in Roxas direction as he approaches. His smile makes Roxas stop and give him a cautious grin.

"What?"

His smile only widening, Axel chuckles and extends out an arm of which Roxas walks into. "It was just so, cute, seeing you play with those children." Roxas rolls his eyes but chuckles. "Seriously, anyone loves anyone who's good with kids."

Roxas bashfully shrugs. "Just, something I wish my father did with me. I just love that kind of innocence since mine was lost long ago."

Axel kisses Roxas' cheek and smiles. "Hey, you're still innocent in some aspects." To emphasize his point, Axel grins as his hand drifts down Roxas' back towards his tender bum. Roxas fidgets and cups his hand over his mouth to muffle his still silent gasp. He feels Axel chuckle beneath him as Roxas flattens his palm against the red-head's chest as Axel tries to pull him into his lap.

Roxas chuckles as he pries himself away and takes a tankard from Demyx who is sitting on the bench by the fires. Stepping over the bench, Roxas settles down and sits forward with his elbows to his knees while he clasps the tankard in his hands. Demyx keeps his attention on the bard as he pulls out a lute and starts to tune it. Behind him, a woman walks up to the front and the men of the bar clap and whistle as she adjusts her dress. A third bard holding a flute joins the lute player behind the woman and nestles in the available seat.

"And now for a song that was once the words of our greatest general, in the war against the invaders from the land. Let this song be a tribute to you all, and may your enemies fall beneath the steel of your blade." She speaks.

Roxas fidgets in his seat and Demyx pats his shoulder as the lute player strums his string, and taps his foot to mimic the rhythm of a drum. The flute player comes in after four slow counts, trifling a tune that carries across the room and silences all conversations.

"_I must contain my anger, _

_Or I won't control my power. _

_But gods how long I've waited, just to see this very hour,_

_It's just as well I'm not the one, _

_Who calls the storm of fire,_

_Or I would turn this battle plain into your funeral pyre_!"

Roxas listens carefully past the men who clank their drinks together and holler in joy. Already the lyrics seemingly able to strike a chord within him as the woman keeps her hands folded together by the fingers and poised just at her breast line.

"_The priests all say I must not hate,_

_But I will not pretend._

_I saw the wreck of him,_

_My Herald and my friend!_

_The scars you left in flesh and soul,_

_Will be so to fade._

_Oh would I had your coward heart, beneath my naked blade_!"

Roxas thinks of Ventus gurgling on his own blood as he slumps to the floor. Drops of crimson dribble from the corner of his lips and his body shudders from the pain, unable to comprehend how to deal with it. Gripping the handle of the tankard, Roxas thinks of his father and how he had injected Roxas with the fear serum. Such little regards for his son's life despite all of the claims he made of loving Roxas and wanting to make him perfect. He shifts his gaze to the fire and studies the flames, trying to suppress the snarl forcing his way on his lips.

"_I must contain my rage, _

_Or lost ability to plan._

_I must direct the fight from here, _

_Not charging in the van._

_As you will likewise do no doubt,_

_For all that you are cruel. _

_And revel in shed blood and pain._

_I think you are no fool_."

"_But in the name of all the gods,_

_You're all that I despise!_

_Who planned to take by treachery, _

_My kingdom as your prize._

_My throne, my child, my people all_

_You plotted to despoil._

_And tricks that only miracles_

_Enable us to foil_."

The metallic clang of swords. The screams of men rampaging through the streets. Guild member against Guild member. Brother against brother. Roxas' knuckles become white from his grip on the tankard.

"_I must control my fury,_

_Or let slip all that I've sought._

_But vengeance would not be enough, _

_For all the grief you've wrought!_

_Gods grant this day you fall beneath_

_The steel of me and mine._

_And drink full deeply of defeat._

_That cold and bitter wine_."

The singer's voice carries the emotion of the song, and Roxas can't help but think back to the general who must've wrote this while locked away in his chambers, preparing for battle. The instruments take over as the singer breaks and tucks a strand f hair behind her ear. What the general must've been feeling. Wanting to badly to spill his enemy's blood and avenge those he had lost at the enemy's blade. And yet he doesn't let his anger or grief control him and swoon his decisions.

Why can't Roxas be like that? Why is it that he feels his grief and anger, morphed into a ominous defeating silence that has hollowed him out from the inside? Is there any way to truly lift the weight of the burden from his shoulders? Not that he deserves it.

"_My crown is on my brow._

_My naked blade within my hand._

_My army, like an eager hound,_

_Lies waiting my command._

_With how you tortured, killed and lied,_

_Reveal to them this day!_

_By all the stars that ever shone,_

_By all the gods known and unknown,_

_For Herald Kris and my Queen's own . . ._

_I swear that you will pay_!"

The men immediately begin to clap and Roxas can only stare at the flame of the fire. Despite the warmth in his eyes, he watches as they dance and flicker back and forth. Then slowly he can see his father's face slowly picture through the flames.

Roxas reasons that it's merely his imagination conjuring up an image. A mere demonstration of Pareidolia; the psychological phenomenon involving a vague and random stimulus being perceived as significant.

But still the flames insist that his father's face is still in there, and the flames conjure up to his waistline. His father smiles at him, his orange cape billowing behind him. Roxas snarls at the fire and his nostrils flare. The illustration of his father laughs and his yellow eyes blare into Roxas and mocks him. "_You will never win_." His mirage father hisses. "_You are a_ failure!"

Roxas almost growls; a brief voice in the back of his head reminding him he's in a public place. But when then mirage laughs, he then says, "_Axel will never love you_!"

Bolting up from his seat, Roxas chucks the mug into the fire pit. The fire explodes and blossoms like a blooming daisy for a few seconds, a wave of warmth brushing over nearly all of the guests. A few women in the inn squeal in surprise and sudden fear as the fire almost opens wide and reaches for the wooden rafters of the ceiling.

As all eyes are shifting to him, Roxas is already at the chair snatching his cloak and wrapping it around his neck and storming out of the inn.

His feet are automatically speed-walking their way away from the inn and to somewhere he can be alone. For once he doesn't want anyone to follow him even though he expects it. The song seems to have overwhelmed him as it connects too easily to everything that is wrong in his life.

Roxas steers around the next corner, making a right. Here the brick wall gives way to pure iron, each tall bar tipped in a wicked spike. He squints as he strode to a complete stop beside the front gate of the cemetery. There he idles, and he stuffs his hands into his pockets. The wind blows fog around and it leaks through the bars of the gate.

Through the row of black iron bars, a large stone monument stands like a sentinel, a guardian of the gate, each of its four sides illuminated by small display light embedded in the brick walkway. Above, an enormous church looms like a disapproving sentry. Its bell tower, topped with four hornlike spires, stretching to meet with the black cloud-filled sky.

Stepping to meet the gate, Roxas simply stares at the padlock and chain. He takes one of two metal tools he pulls out from the small sheath on his belt, slips its flat, spatula-looking end sideways into the keyhole. Holding the lock steady with one hand, he presses his thumb against the long, sticklike handle of the tool, adding tension. Next he takes the second tool, its tip a thin, sharp point, and shoves it into the toothy slot, wiggling it back and forth. The faint sound of metal scraping against metal echoes through the cemetery.

_Click._

The shackle pops free. Roxas yanks the lock from the gate and gives the metal doors a light shove. He eases it open with a low and rusty groan. Roxas steps through and as he gets out of the range of the gates, he closes them behind him. He threads one arm through to snap the padlock back in place, effectively locking him inside the cemetery.

Standing in front of the grave, a stone monument towers high. Shaped like an enormous white chess piece, the monument stands taller and wider than a person, raised off the brick walkway by a square-cut stone base. Embedded in the center of the stone structure was a portrait of someone embossed on a giant bronze medallion. His eyes two chiseled holes, seemed to watch him with an expression that in the mix of shadow and light looked nothing short of stricken.

Roxas steps away from the grave. Adjusting the straps of his weapons, he turns and moves farther down the redbrick path that skirted one side of the huge church.

Ahead, Roxas sees that the path tapers as it makes its way between two rows of stone sepulchers. The low-lying tombs sit facing one another, like neighboring houses on a narrow street. Roxas strode toward them, and the shadows around him grow thicker. Glancing down, he notices a long white slab set into the center of the brick walkway, someone's name chiseled into the alabaster stone. Stepping around the slab, he hurries to the two rows of aboveground crypts.

Tiny flecks of snow begin to light on the pointed rooftops of the squat stone chambers. Roxas glances at the hinged doors that adorn the face of each, the iron panels large enough to allow for a single coffin to slide through. They remind him of the kind of doors found on old-fashioned furnaces. He had to wonder, though, why these doors needed hinges at all if they were never meant to be reopened. Moving to one side, he places his hand against the tomb to his right, allowing the rough stone to guide him.

In all honesty, he had no idea where he was going. It was like he was letting his body navigate its way around, even though he's never taken this path before. He turns left and enters an open courtyard. To his right, next to an ancient and gnarled tree, stands the set of gates that look out into the void of nothingness. He vision runs between a pair of parallel tombs that, unlike the other face-to-face crypts, flank the walkway lengthwise. He finds a cement drain entrenched in the walkway; no doubt meant to keep the tunnel-like section from flooding with rainwater.

A squeaking sound draws his attention away from the scenery to where another gate recessed beneath a brick archway, one that seems to lead into the lower portion of the church. Smoky glass backs the iron bars, hiding from view whatever lay within.

Roxas takes a step in the direction of the door but pauses, glancing toward the rear portion of the cemetery, where the ground arches into hilly terrain dotted with slabs and still more large and closely quartered above ground tombs.

As he looks out over the crowded landscape, it strikes Roxas as odd that there didn't appear to be any angels or other decorative figures guarding any of the stone burial chambers. There were no seraphs or weeping women bearing laurels. There were no lyres or even crosses. Only stone and mortar, marble and granite. Even though he is in a graveyard, the scene strikes him as very lonely.

He glances behind him to the gates that face the violet-tinted background. Then turns and jogs to the door, then slides into the musty chamber. Underneath the church, it smells like chalk and earth. More vaults lay scattered around the cavernous room. Gravestones, too, poke up through a floor of dust and dirt. Stone archways filled with pockets of spider webs stretching across the ceiling. Across the room, yet another iron gate backed by the same opaque glass as the one he'd entered though. It seems to glow from behind by the moon.

He stares at the door that leads to the back of the graveyard as he strode forward through the gloom, moving toward its dim glow. While he could discern the tops of tombstones and the general perimeters of the room, he could barely make out the dirt floor itself. The darkness creates a thick blanket that hides the outline of steps and short brick barriers and squat grave markers.

For sure he's alone for the time being, Roxas draws up to the mausoleum and lowers himself with a grunt to sit on the ground, his back pressing into one of the long tombs. He lets out a long sigh as he tilts his head to rest against the tomb.

He shuts his eyes as he tries to think of where his father could possibly be right now. No doubt they're close. Even if Roxas is wrong, the first thing he learned is to never underestimate your opponent.

Though isn't it rather counter intuitive to be using his father's tactics to survive when he keeps saying he wants to escape it? Then again remaking yourself isn't as easy as he'd like it to me. Of course it is all that he has ever known, and refusing to use his natural abilities would be like refusing to speak.

He could try to be different, try to change, but not being himself is never the answer and it won't make his feelings of guilt go away.

For some reason, he feels as though he should be delivering a final speech. His last words to himself. _For_ himself. For the boy he'd once been but can never against resurrect, the boy his father had been so afraid of losing and had lost anyway.

But, Roxas thinks with a bleak and sad smile, what better place to bury what was dead than in a cemetery?


	12. Chapter 11

A soft scraping noise makes Roxas open his eyes.

He scans the outline of the tombs but sees no movement within the ranks. Listening, he hears only the high, keening whistle of the wind as it whips along the sides of the church.

Roxas rubs one eye with the back of his hand. He turns his head to see if anyone had found him, only to find the place empty.

"Axel?" Roxas calls into the darkness, which seems to eat the syllable right out of his mouth.

There is no answer.

Hands fumbling, Roxas gropes in the dirt for the small flint that's kept to light the torches. He finds it amid the dirt and bits of dry leaves, and, lighting the torch closest to his head, aims the light down the room.

Roxas goes to reach for his long knife, only to find it gone. Looking down he finds all of the weapons he had gotten from Genie to be gone. In their place are his old black clothing, and his long, tattered cloak. Roxas gasps and stumbles back to the floor, frightened of his clothes as if they're a bunch of crawling insects. His hand fumbles for his chest, feeling for the texture of the tattoo over his heart, but finds the skin smooth like marble.

_A dream_? Impossible. He couldn't have fallen asleep. He'd only shut his eyes for a moment.

But if it's not, who changed him, let alone remove his tattoo?

The sudden sound of soft humming causes Roxas to drop his hand to the hilt of his old short sword. He scrambles to his feet and squints through the gloom towards where the door leading to the rear of the cemetery now stands ajar.

A dim blue light glow emanates from the slight gap, lighting a path through the obstacle course of broken stones, low-lying crypts, and uneven ground.

"V-Vanitas?" Roxas calls, louder than before. But still no response.

The melody, as though drifting up from the depths of some fathomless well, continues to echo through the catacombs.

Roxas doesn't recognize the song, let alone knows of any instruments that are set in the cemetery. Then again, perhaps the townspeople of Hallows Eve would bring instruments into the cemeteries for the festival. The collection of notes trifles through the air and reverberates within the stones.

Roxas begins to move in the direction of the humming. He stops as soon as the toes of his boots meet with the edge of the slanted porcelain-blue shaft of light that spills from the door. Hesitating, held in place by his own indecision, he wonders if he dares look inside.

Did he even have a choice?

If he cries out, would anyone hear him?

While Roxas deliberates, the humming beyond the door grows stronger, the melody rising and falling in a haunting and melancholy pattern.

Curiosity overriding his trepidation, Roxas takes his first step into the blue light, where the coldness of the catacombs seems to intensify. A draft rises up around him, sending a chill through to his bones, as though every spirit trapped within had decided to come out and watch his approach.

But towards what? Or whom?

One tenuous step after another brings Roxas closer and closer to the door until he stands just beside it.

The door swings inward at his slightest touch, making no sound as it moves.

Where he knew he should have found the cold night and the back of the cemetery, Roxas instead discovers another chamber into the catacombs.

Immediately, his focus settles on the source of the humming, a shrouded figure who lay faceup on the lid of a horizontal tomb.

Positioned in the center of the room, the coffin-shaped crypt sits atop a set of stairs stationed directly below a blue stained-glass skylight embedded in the stone ceiling.

Moonlight, sheer and diaphanous, pours through the sapphire panes. It bathes the slender body that lies concealed beneath a snow-white sheet dappled patterns.

The melody draws Roxas farther, beckoning him like a siren's song into the room.

Something crunches under his foot, but he ignored it, too distracted by the array of broken and empty-eyed statue faces that seemed to watch him from their perches on the rows of shelves lining the narrow chamber's four walls. While the shrouded figure kept on humming, Roxas glances around to all corner of the room.

The space is empty, cleared away to reveal the stone floor.

Lifting a hand to his waist, grasping the hilt of his long knife, Roxas draws nearer to the tomb. He mounts the steps, and as he edges closer to the shrouded form, the woman's humming began to slow. He reaches out a quivering hand and grabs a portion of the stiff fabric close to the figure's face. Keeping his other hand firmly clamped around the knife, he begins to draw the sheet slowly away.

The figure beneath stops humming.

Inch by inch, the sheet slips free to reveal a boy dressed in a black tunic, the same one Roxas always wears.

He uttered a clipped cry.

Blond hair lies in a halo around the boy's head. Wisps of featherlike hair framed an all-too-familiar face – _his_ face.

Roxas lets go of the sheet. The covering continues to slide off the sarcophagus, the cloth pooling onto the stairs and tumbling over Roxas' shoes. Inky splotches begin to seep through the material of the tunic, the layers of clothing transforming to pure ebony.

Roxas watches with mounting horror, unable to look away.

The boy lay prone on the lab, his still lips painted, his eyes closed. A slanted needle-thin scratch marred his right cheek, the cut a deep purple against his ashen skin. Bound to his stiff and pale hands by a violet ribbon, the corpse holds a perfect doppelganger of his short sword, the hilt bejeweled; a bouquet of pristine white lilies scattered in a circle around the tomb. Their stifling perfume, now unleashed, filled the tomb, lacing the stagnant air with their choking fragrance.

A twin version of Roxas' gold ring circled his double's sallow finger. It gleams in the frosted moonlight until a blanket of loud cover passed over the skylight, turning the gold in the center of the charm dim and milky.

Roxas takes a step backwards and stumbles down the stairs, nearly falling.

He whirls for the door but it was gone now, replaced by flat stone.

"What the . . ." he mumbles, the words reverberating around him.

Rushing to the wall, he beats his palms against the place where the door had stood wide open only moments before.

Trapped, he spins to face the interior of the tomb again, but the sudden motion causes the room to reel and tilt. Tossed off his feet, Roxas slams onto the cold stone that pressed into his back and shoulder blades like a slab of ice.

"No!" Roxas shouts.

Reaching out, kicking his legs and thrashing, he finds himself boxed in by close narrow walls of smooth marble.

Roxas screams. Contained within the narrow coffin-shape space, the sound of his cries, he knew, would pierce only his own ears.

The sarcophagus – he'd now become sealed within.

He wakes with a sharp gasp.

The outline of long tombs and graves swim into his focus. Hunched in the gloom of the catacombs, they look like shadow creatures waiting to attack.

Roxas twists where he sat, whipping his head to look in the direction of the door that had taken him into the separate chamber of the marble crypt. It is closed, and the light filtering in through the opaque grime-stained sheet of glass no longer shines ethereal blue, but a dull bone yellow.

He'd been dreaming after all. Or was he still?

Roxas lets his hands slide all along his torso, and finds belts and buckles and knives and swords, and feels a funny sense of déjà vu as he reaches up and rubs his hand over the flame tattoo on his chest.

The moment the chime of a bell tower sings across town, a strange prickling sensation spreads through him, causing his skin to turn ice cold. The hour hand and the minute hand are aligned; both aimed a full notch past twelve.

It is five after one. More than an entire hour past midnight.

Roxas shoots to his feet and scurries up small billows of dust. He launches into a run and scuttles around the tombs and hops over broken stones. Blindly, not caring if he falls, he makes his way to the door that he hopes will, this time, take him out of the catacombs and into the graveyard, to the winding cobblestone road and back to the Guillotine Plaza.

Wonder if Axel or Vanitas are still awake? Will they be mad, have they already tried scouring the town in search of Roxas? Or did they just assume Roxas will return eventually? He almost wants to rant at them for their carelessness behavior.

Still, Roxas jogs his way through the cemetery and only when he goes to climb the fence does his palm stings. He looks and finds the skin indented with the pattern of the hilt of his long knife. He wonders just how long and how tight he must've been gripping it. Roxas hurries back into the night and heads straight towards the inn.

The moment he reaches the Plaza, he finds a large crowd gathered around the fountain. He spots Axel's hair out of everyone else in the crowd, and finds him with one hand tucked in one pocket, and a bottle of ale in the other; though thankfully he doesn't look intoxicated.

Roxas creeps towards the back of the crowd and loops around, making his way to Axel. Meanwhile the Mayor is giving an announcement to the villagers about a costume contest.

Once Roxas reaches Axel, he grins slightly and decides to poke both his fingers under Axel's underarms. Axel jolts and lets out a yelp before turning around. Finding Roxas, he smiles. "Ah, there he is. All tuckered out. Finally decided to come and join us in the light, huh?"

Roxas doesn't say anything as he steps up with Axel and faces the Mayor. Though he can't say it's because he wants to hear about the man's riveting speech on how costumes aren't allowed to have real weapons.

The mayor is rather short. His head designed in the shape of a cone, and displays two faces; one being painted on for the festival. His normal face is peach-colored, with rosy cheeks and displays an award winning smile. His painted half is bone-white and has the mouth set in a permanent frown with green lips and yellow eyes. His top hat is ridiculously gigantic, being the same height as the mayor himself, but very thin. His body is cone-shaped to match his hat, and balloons outwards before ending on short, stubbly legs with very tiny feet.

He dresses in a black suit with a white undershirt and black-and-white pinstriped pants. He has a pendant or a bow-tie shaped like a black widow spider. There's a red ribbon with the word "MAYOR" printed on a white center pinned to the left of his blazer.

"And remember, everyone. No tampering with other people's costumes. This is a fair contest, and those who are caught will be disqualified for the next upcoming three years!" says the Mayor.

Standing next to him is a man of near gargantuan tallness, and of equally tall. He is dressed as a skeleton as his head lacks hair and he sports empty eye sockets and nostrils. Strangely his neck is solid, not showing speculated vertebrate segmentation. His mouth is painted thin and wide, marked by a number of small seams. He wears a macabre black suit with white pinstripes. The top has a single white button, and a white shirt is visible underneath. His black dress shoes are surprisingly small in comparison to the rest of his body. The coat tails of his coat reaches to knee-length and he wears a large, black bow-tie shaped like a bat with its wings spread wide.

The Mayer calls him the champion of scares as well as title holder of the best costume in down. Jack, is his name; Jack Skellington since his skeleton costume is something he does often and has become a staple for his look.

As the Mayor's speech wavers on, the sound of children laughing catches Roxas attention instead and he turns to find Ben and his friends still playing on the other side of the fountain. Ben spots Roxas in the crowd and waves happily. Roxas waves and winks in return.

The Mayor is near done with his speech when his voice stops abruptly. Roxas just assumes he's trying to clear his throat, but when he turns his head back, Roxas' body runs cold, and he instantly latches onto Axel. Out of his peripherals, he can see Axel look to him, but at the look of Roxas' stare he directs it to the mayor. Jack Skellington looks to him as well, but his eyes widen.

The townspeople have fallen silent. The Mayor has his mouth agape as if still in mid-sentence, his hand grasping his throat. He reaches his other hand up, as if getting ready to grasp Jack.

Then as if the world has stopped and is now in slow motion for Roxas. Blood then pools from his neck and dribbles over his hand, staining the cuffs of his blazer and covering the rings on his fingers.

His body slumps forward, and Roxas can hear the sickening sound of a dagger's blade as it slides out of the Mayor's back.

Shadows coalesce behind him into a shrouded figure. He twirls the dagger in between his fingers, flinging the droplets of blood. A faint but grim smile across his face.

A small sound gurgles in Roxas' throat. It would've been a scream if his teeth had not been clamped shut.

Every inch of the skin is wrapped in purple and black cloth. From the shoulders hangs a pale gray cloak. Roxas expects another female Faceless at first, but the first immediate difference he notices is the built. With the tight wrappings the thickness of the arms and wideness of the shoulders suggested male. Shadows seem to curl about his body like mist off a pond. Also, he wore a mask that covered the lower half of his face where Roxas expected to see a white cloth. His eyes are so deep-set dark blue, a dreaming, sleeping, waiting color.

There's a collective gasp in the crowd before Jack's infuriated and fearful voice screams. "Catch him! Rip him apart!"

Swords are drawn, people scream, and everyone runs and dives under tables or crouches next to stacks of crates.

Everyone except Roxas. Even as Axel bolted off back to the inn to get the others, Roxas stays standing where he is and watches as the Faceless assassin flips backwards up onto the fountain and chucks three daggers at the oncoming guards who bump past Roxas. The daggers land in the chests, each over the heart and they fall within ten seconds.

The Faceless man rises to stand at the top of the fountain, and gives a seductive smile to Roxas; of who still stands dazed. His heart pounding, Roxas mentally screams at himself to move, to run, draw his weapon. But he doesn't. Something has him immobilized, and he wonders if it has something to do with wanting to be in the Faceless. Does he fight them? He will never beg to them, but perhaps it's something else.

If he's a male, dressed in the attire of the Faceless, than means they really _do_ take men. Roxas almost wants to laugh with maniac joy. He can't help but treat this like a hunt, and treat the member like a baby deer. One false move and he could scare it off.

The Faceless member smiles, giving a soft laugh. He drops down from the fountain, flat on his feet. Jack, since cowering in the corner away in the corner. Pathetic. Roxas lets the member casually stroll up to him. His features, of what is available to be seen, are rather handsome.

"Hello Roxas. Heard a lot about you from my sisters of the faction." His tone is calm and cool, smooth like marble. And he speaks as if he's known Roxas for years.

"I am almost honored." Roxas speaks. His voice sounds distant; as if it's been centuries since he's used it. Although he is uncomfortable at his closeness, Roxas just keeps staring at the member with his lips slightly parted. The member softly chuckles again and lifts a hand to grasp Roxas' chin.

"Well you're definitely cuter than I imagined." He grins. "You almost look so . . ." he brushes his thumb over Roxas' bottom lip. ". . . Innocent."

He takes the collar of Roxas' jacket and runs it between his fingers.

"Something I thought of myself." Roxas speaks, surprising himself with how steady his tone is. "Black just seems too obvious. Needed to blend in."

"I like your thinking." The member smiles. A warm spot blooms on Roxas' back, only then does Roxas realize the member has wrapped his spare arm around Roxas lower back. He tips his head in so his lips are almost in contact with Roxas'.

For some stupid reason, Roxas blushes, and is not forcing himself to stand rigid. Relaxing his this Faceless' arms seems, wrong.

"Well at least you're smarter than you look." He smiles.

A warmth of anger blooms at Roxas' core, cooling slightly as he feels the nameless member's thumb reaches the corner of Roxas' lips.

"Roxas!" someone shouts, and an arrow comes flying at them. The Faceless member knocks it aside with his dagger and pushes away. Roxas stumbles away while he cartwheels a good ten feet away.

Axel, Demyx, Vanitas, Luxord and Lexaeus come running up while Xigbar leads a small group of men towards the exit gates with the crowd. Roxas can feel Demyx's hand grip his shoulder, steadying him, but not pulling Roxas behind him in a protective manner.

Axel and Vanitas stand up front wielding a gun and a sword as they face off against the Faceless member.

"Who're you with?!" Vanitas demands.

"Take a guess." says the Faceless as he chucks a trio of daggers at Vanitas. They shoot straight with amazing speed. Vanitas manages to block them all, but the member has several more clipped to his belt.

"I thought the Faceless only recruited women." Demyx smack talks.

"Then you should realize the danger you're in if I'm an exception. It's not about numbers when it comes to the Faceless, it's about skill." The man retorts. Even with his cowl, Roxas he can see a mocking smile behind the fabric.

"What do you want with Roxas?" Lexaeus questions.

"Isn't it obvious? Or is your brain so tiny within that thick skull of yours, it can't make the simplest connection?" he mocks.

Lexaeus grits her teeth and despite his urge to bolt forward and attack, he remains rooted in place. Roxas remembers Lexaeus always saying how Roxas lets his enemies easily get under his skin. He needs a clear mind.

The man draws two serrated daggers and spins them between his fingers before taking a fighting stance. Vanitas holds the hilt of his weapon and sneers. He shouldn't really call him a man since he looks only a couple years older than Roxas. Possibly Vanitas' age.

The Faceless suddenly throws two more daggers, and while Vanitas managed to block two, one managed to bite into his skin. He grunts in pain and feels a sharp punch to his cheek before a kick to his stomach that sends Vanitas back. Roxas stops a gasp from escaping by clapping his hand over his mouth.

Rolling with the momentum, Vanitas manages to come up on one knee and block the man's feet as it intended to slam into his face. Vanitas pushes him off and rolls back as he lands a few feet away. Vanitas pulls out the dagger before standing on his feet, keeping most of his weight on the uninjured leg.

"Mm, looks like that hurt." The man says as he charges forward.

"I have a very high pain tolerance." Vanitas bites back.

"And I have highly poisonous daggers." He says.

Vanitas blocks his first two jabs, the Faceless ducks as he tries to swing at Vanitas' head, then block again as he tries to slash Vanitas' face. Vanitas kicks his legs out from under him and punches him straight in the jaw. He goes to bring his leg up and the man backflips onto a nearby rock. He rubs his jaw.

"Now that was unexpected. Does this mean the Faceless finally decided to give me a challenge?" he sarcastically asks, though there is a bit of surprise in his tone.

Both Vanitas and Roxas know why; they can practically hear what he's thinking. Compared to Vanitas, the man is taller by nearly nine inches; making Vanitas appear small, so he's an easy target, but Vanitas is also an assassin, so he's not that easy to beat.

Axel shoots at the man with his gun, and the Faceless nimbly dodges before hopping and skipping his way towards Axel, driving his knee into Axel's neck. Axel crashes into a pile of crates, shattering them beneath him.

"Roxas!" Vanitas shouts. "A little help here?"

Demyx and Lexaeus ready their weapons and charge towards the Faceless, but the Faceless runs forward and chucks small pouches at them, unleashing a thin smoke. The two stop immediately and begin to cough.

The Faceless then kicks them both to the ground and giving a reassuring jab in the stomachs for good measure. He turns and faces Roxas.

Grabbing two daggers, Roxas launches them straight at him, and he blocks one, and flipping back blocks the other. He lands in a somewhat seated position and smiles. "Not bad for a kid. This might actually get interesting." He mocks.

As if snapping out of his trance, Roxas blinks his eyes and he reaches for his long knives.

Roxas feels a sting in his jaw and nearly screams into his teeth. He stumbles back and readies his knives as he goes to slice at the Faceless' throat. Roxas heavily swings his weapon and the Faceless bends forward balancing on his hands. Roxas dances from side to side as his legs spin. Roxas goes to swing again and the Faceless pivots on the heel of his hand and pushes off his feet flipping back several feet. He has powerful legs. He drops his serrated blades to throw four more daggers. Roxas blocks them all by spinning his blades.

As Axel regains consciousness, he looks beyond the Roxas and the Faceless member to find more shadows morphing. "Roxas, there's more!" Axel shouts.

Roxas had just blocked one of the Faceless' daggers and they now stand at a standstill with their weapons crossed in X's. "What?!" Roxas hollers.

The Faceless then yanks Roxas' weapons down and headbutts him backwards. Roxas' back hits the pavement first, before rolling to his knees.

"Well how else was I supposed to keep your friends distracted?" the Faceless smiles. "I want you all to myself."

While he and Roxas spar, four more Faceless members appear and Lexaeus, Luxord, Demyx, Vanitas and Axel stand ready and prepare their weapons. The Faceless all carry similar weapons of purple serrated daggers, swords and long knives, and charge forward. They collide, and weapons sing just like before in the field when they faced Cloud.

Roxas pushes to his feet and grabs his daggers. "Why don't you tell me your name?" he provokes. "I'd like to get to know you better."

"I have no name." the man replies.

"You said you were faceless, not nameless, now tell me."

Roxas has a feeling that behind that cowl, it hides an amused smile.

"A strong candle." The man says. "My name is Maleek." he charges forward and as Roxas goes to swing his knife, Maleek leaps over him and lands on a small stack of crates that was behind Roxas. "Why don't we . . . take this somewhere more private?" he winks.

Roxas watches as he hops up towards the flat rooftops and Roxas immediately follows. Maleek is already at the other end of the roof by the time Roxas comes up. He's not even allowed a second's rest before two arrows come wheezing at his head. Roxas ducks and sprints forward drawing his second long knife.

Maleek shoots two more arrows and Roxas leaps up, slicing them all in half. As Maleek goes to draw a third, Roxas comes barreling down, slicing the air with his knives. Maleek backflips and shoots again, this time the arrow slices off a few ends of Roxas' hair but he pursues forward.

Roxas dodges left then right of his slashing blades and when Maleek goes to kick his feet out, Roxas ducks and wisps behind him. Before he even could raise his sword, Maleek spins and slashes Roxas. Luckily only the ends of his hair still. Maleek leaps back to get some distance and runs around, circling Roxas, chucking two daggers to his head. Roxas blocks with his knife, but mixed in with the daggers was a small smoke bomb. The minute it meets impact with his sword a cloud of dust belches out. It only last a second, but when it clears, Roxas sees Maleek rush in and punch him hard enough to knock him off the roof and tumble down before crashing into a trio of barrels

Vanitas turns as he pushes off of his opponent and sees Roxas crash. "Roxas!"

Axel manages to braise one bullet along the thigh of his own and punches him in the side of the head. He turns and finds Maleek leaping down towards Roxas who lies in a pile of battered barrels.

Maleek lands besides Roxas who groans as he rolls to his side, trying to suppress the pain of his shoulder. "Come now, you can do better." Maleek taunts.

Roxas struggles to prop himself on his elbows, and when he sees Maleek reach for him, Roxas snatches his wrist and throws Maleek over him, somersaulting with him and pins Maleek long enough to punch him in the face left and right.

But Maleek retaliates by kicking Roxas in the groin and grabbing him by the throat. He first rams Roxas into the boarded up window of a three story abandoned food storage. He then releases Roxas and kicks him hard enough to break through the boards.

The place was already slated for demolition. Holes in the ceiling, the walls were weak; not even the floor was stable enough to withstand weight no bigger than a hundred pounds.

Roxas rides his momentum and flips back landing on his feet. Maleek rushes in, chucking two daggers aiming for his feet.

The two run through the warehouse, Maleek the one throwing daggers now and after the first two, Roxas semi-turns and after blocking another one, Maleek suddenly chucks an explosive. It explodes and blasts Roxas through the wall leading to another room stored with old tables and chairs; creating a good size hole in the wall. Roxas bounces, but adjusts his form and slides on his feet to a stop. As he stands, he falters and drops to his knees. Maleek hops through the hole.

Through all of the chaos, Roxas suddenly remembers why he's here. He pushes to his feet. "Look, I don't want to fight you."

"Then this'll be easy." Maleek slyly grins. Wisps of shadow floating about him like smoke.

He then leaps high and crosses his arms again, and when he uncross, six explosives go off and Roxas is blown back, slamming into a group of old wooden cabinets on the wall, and crashing into a table set for six.

Maleek grabs another chair and throws it at Roxas. Roxas leaps right, then left to avoid a chair, but as he jumps to strike Maleek, the Faceless member suddenly swings out his bow. It slams into Roxas, breaking form the harsh impact and Roxas is sent flying back, plowing through stacked chairs and tables. The splinters were now everywhere, and Roxas was starting to think he was made of wood. Cuts and bruises started festering on his arms, and blood drips from the corner of his mouth.

Maleek is slowly walking up to Roxas, who's still trying to push himself up on his splinter-filled arms. He draws a sharp breath. Roxas struggles to push to his feet and it doesn't help when Maleek places his foot on Roxas' back, forcing the blond back down. He lines up the tip of his dagger against Roxas' chin. With his free hand, he grabs a handful of Roxas' hair. Roxas clenches his teeth so tight they might crack.

"You're not as pathetic as you look." Maleek says.

"Excuse me if I don't seem appreciative of your compliment!" Roxas hisses. He fists his hands embedding more splinters and partial glass from abandoned vials left in the cabinets.

He hears Maleek chuckle, and as suddenly as he seemed to grab Roxas' hair, he releases it. Roxas watches as Maleek steps in front of him and sheath his sword. He turns towards Roxas. His ragged cloak pools on the ground as if it were liquid darkness, yet when he steps back, it immediately snaps erect and wraps about his sides.

"Word has it you want to join us." He says.

Roxas jerks his head up, the sudden change in his tone both alarming and surprising. "Uh . . . yeah." Roxas stutters.

"A word of advice, let that be the only reason why you don't fight."

"Well your behavior wasn't exactly easy to decipher. I assume this was for more than just your personal amusement?" Roxas says as he manages to push himself to his hands and knees. He keeps his dagger in hand.

"Hm, good to see you're not like the everyday bubble-brained blond." Maleek smiles.

"Thanks."

He turns to Roxas and Roxas can tell he's smiling again. Maleek tugs his hood in a mock salute, then fists bits of his cloak into his hands and snaps it about his body.

"I'll see you around." He says.

Roxas watches as his form deteriorate into wisps of darkness. They swirl and billow before retreating into the blackness of the shadows.

There's an eerie moment of silence. The creaking of the floorboard is all Roxas can hear.

Through the now open doorway to the outside, Roxas can see the full moon shine its icy light onto the wood. It stretches all the way past Roxas and climbing halfway up the wall. Closing his eyes, Roxas can feel it's coolness against his forehead, his cheeks. He takes deep breaths and concentrates on the tickling of blood running down the side of his face; warm like sweat.

Then something dark moves from beyond his eyelids.

"Roxas!" it shouts.

Robotically, Roxas opens his eyes and lifts his head to the figure. He finds Demyx braced against the doorframe, breathless and with thin cuts on his cheeks.

"Get up! We've got to go!" Demy orders as he runs and grabs Roxas by the arm, hauling him to his feet. He reaches behind Roxas and clasps his cloak in to place, then pulls the hood over his head.

"Why?" Roxas asks, his voice lacks emotion, and there's pain all over.

"Jack and the townsfolk think we're behind the assassination of the mayor!" Demyx says as they run through the doorway and make a sharp left and start to run straight towards the giant ebony gates where Vanitas stands wielding his sword. "They've turned against us and before you say anything, they're beyond reason, so let's just run!"

Roxas blinks to get the blurriness out of his eyes. His body is trembling and he can't stop it. Vanitas waves his arm in a gesture for them to hurry. Roxas' feet move one in front of the other and Roxas only concentrates on how hard his heels hit the dirt. Behind them, the sound of guards can be heard.

As they make for the gate, Roxas turns his head and finds Ben huddled behind the fountain still, a trio of pumpkins at his feet. They're eyes meet and Roxas' heart wrenches as the boy's eyes widen in fear. His cheeks are raw from crying and he has a few scratches on his cheek. Roxas can see him gazing at the blood that streams down the side of Roxas' face.

Roxas feels like screaming.

Once the way is cleared, Vanitas shouts to someone. "All clear!"

Luxord and Xigbar grabs both doors of the main gate and shut them with a loud clang. Luxord loops a chain through and Xigbar hooks a padlock from the outside, clicking it into place. Outside Terra runs with Leon and Cid and the entire supplies behind them, all present and accounted for. They start to run the moment Vanitas shouted the first word. Axel is on horseback and aims his gun towards the gates. Roxas feels his throat clog when he pulls the trigger.

Looking back, Roxas can see two of the guards who were leading the pack drop to the floor, his hands clutching his knee, which gives Axel the opportunity to shoot him in the head. The others behind him leap back and drop to the ground covering their heads. Roxas turns his head away as he hears Axel shoot one, two, three more bullets.

The light sprinkling of snow from the graveyard is already halfway melted and the rain pats against the pavement. Every crack of thunder and flash of lightning makes the back of Roxas' neck prickle, as if electricity is dancing over his skin.

The ground feels slick beneath his boots, and his weapons thump against his back and thighs as they continue to run. Rain sprinkles his head and his hands. His feet splash through puddles, his legs thankfully guard by the knee-high length.

Roxas smells wet pavement, and pretends this it is all there is.


	13. Chapter 12

They all run.

The rebels sprint down the black stone road in a breathless pack. The night air is thin as a tissue and smells like rain. Shouts follow them. The hinges of gates shriek. Roxas runs faster than he can possibly run, like he's breathing adrenaline instead of air. The thundering of horse hooves chases him and the rebels into the trees. Demyx's hand closes around his.

They run through a corn field in a long line. By then, the pounding of hooves have caught up to them. The huffing and neighing creeps through the tall stalks, wafting a leaf here, an ear of corn there.

"Split up!" Someone yells, and it sounds like Axel.

They divide and spread through the field like spilling water. Roxas grabs Lexaeus' arm. He hears Zack gasping behind Lexaeus.

They crash over cornstalks. The heavy leaves cut Roxas' cheeks and arms. He stares between Demyx's shoulder blades as they run. Roxas can hear a heavy thump and a scream. There are screams everywhere, to his left, to his right. Swords are clanging and whistling. His friends are dying. And all he's doing is running.

Finally they reach a perimeter of woods. Lexaeus runs ahead, creating a discreet enough forest trail for the other to run through without bearing much attack of the foliage. Before they can start running again, Roxas stops and looks back at the cornfield they just left. He sees shadow figures riding long the horizon. But he doesn't hear anything.

"Where are the others?" whispers Zack.

"Gone." Lexaeus says.

Zack stifles a sob. Demyx pulls Roxas to his side roughly, and starts forward. Roxas' face burns with shallow cuts from the corn leaves, but his eyes are dry. The death of his rebels is just another weight he is unable to set down.

His legs ache and his lungs burn. What if Axel didn't make it?

"I'm sure he's fine." Lexaeus says. "That man of yours knows how to take care of himself."

Roxas nods, without conviction. Axel can take care of himself, but in an attack, surviving is an accident. It doesn't take skill to stand in a place where no eyes find you, or to fire into the dark and hit a man you didn't see. It is all luck, or providence, depending on what you believe. And Roxas doesn't know – has never known – exactly what he believes.

_He's all right. He's okay. He's all right._

_Axel is alive_.

Roxas' hand trembles and Demyx squeezes his shoulder.

After a minute of wandering, there's the sound of rustling and immediately everyone crouches in the tall grass to hide. Roxas keeps his gun ready. The sound soon becomes horse hooves that plow through the trees along with figures. Roxas hears a voice:

"Roxas?"

It sounds like Vanitas. The carts and wagons slow. Roxas straightens, gripping his gun as he walks out so Vanitas can see him. The cart stops a few feet ahead of Roxas and his little party, and Vanitas leaps out of the passenger side, throwing his arms around Roxas. Roxas replays it in his mind to make it real. It doesn't work. It doesn't feel real.

Axel and the others soon come up with more cuts a little first aid can't heal. Roxas would've run up to him and hugged him in relief, but something about his expression seems unwelcoming.

The trees can hide them out until they decide to make it back to the main road. But as the rest of the party reunites, Roxas can see they're a handful of men down. Most of them were guild members of Terra, Leon and Cid, but one person's absence catches Roxas' attention.

"Xaldin?"

"Xaldin's dead." Leon carefully says. The word "dead" makes it real for Roxas. He wants to cry, but he somehow channels his emotions through Demyx who wipes tears from his cheeks with the heels of his hands and struggles to control his shuddering breaths.

Cid collapses to the ground, Terra sits on a rotted log, his arm soaked with blood. Zexion stands in front of him with a first aid kit, his hands glowing a periwinkle white. Leon and Xigbar join Cid in the grass.

Axel dismounts and hands his horse off to Lexaeus. He and Roxas, as well as a few others look towards the city, which is still illuminated, dawn soon approaching. Roxas wants to feel something. Fear, anger, grief. But he doesn't. All he feels is the need to keep moving.

Axel turns towards Roxas.

"What the hell was that, Roxas?" he says.

"What?" Roxas says, and he is ashamed of how weak his voice sounds. He doesn't know whether he's talking about Maleek, or what came before.

"You froze! Someone was about to kill you and you just _stood_ there!" he is yelling now. "I thought I could rely on you at least to save your own life !"

"Hey!" says Demyx. "Give him a break, all right?"

"No," Axel says, staring at Roxas. "He doesn't need a break."

He still believes Roxas is strong. Strong enough that he doesn't need his sympathy. Roxas used to think he was right, but now Roxas isn't so sure.

But what is sure about right now is that Axel sounds like his father. Always telling Roxas to suck it up and face the consequences or push aside his feelings as they are a weakness. Irrationally, Roxas is suddenly infuriated with Axel for thinking like his father. No matter how hard he tries to escape him, he always comes back somehow.

"Come on, Roxas. Get it together."

Something inside Roxas snaps. It's almost like everything in his body stops. Heat races through him like a recharge, driving the weakness out of him, and Roxas smacks Axel so hard his knuckles burn with the impact. Then without realizing it, Roxas drives his knee into Axel's stomach. After hearing Axel wheeze and drop to his knee, Roxas growls at him.

"Shut up." Roxas says. "I panicked. It won't happen again."

He then turns towards the group. "We have to ensure no one followed us. We have to travel through the night."

Behind him Roxas can hear Axel pushy himself to his feet, but doesn't look back.

"Those less injured will take the first watch shift and ride the horses. The rest of you are free to sleep in the carts as best you can. When you feel better by any means, you will exchange shifts with one other member. Understood?"

The men nod.

"We will need six. Four for the horses, two for the carts. I will take the first shift, who will join me?" Roxas asks. This statement earns him a few surprised and concerned stares, and only then does Roxas smell the dried blood on the sides of his face.

"I will." Lexaeus volunteers.

"Thank you."

"I will as well." Zack says raising his hand.

Four more men raise their hands and the rest of the men submit and settle on the carts, passing around bedrolls and new clothes.

Axel doesn't say anything.

Counting the men in the carts, Roxas' feels his throat tighten as he counts only one hundred and thirty five of the one hundred and seventy five they started with. Forty men lost today. And yet it pleases him that it was at the hands of guards rather than his father.

As they saunter along on horseback, Roxas looks down at the gold ring still on his ring finger. He stretches out his fingers and gazes at the gold band, at the "I Love You" inscription and sighs. Three hours later, Luxord switches out with Zack, and Terra with Lexaeus. Roxas doesn't allow anyone to switch with him, assuring that he is fine. Given he's the "leader" no one argues, or they know not to disobey Roxas after his demonstration fight through the old food storage. Also that would mean having to sit wither next to or near Axel; and Roxas doesn't feel like he can get close to him for the time being without a catastrophic meltdown.

Five more hours pass before they stop for the night in the shelter of trees. Roxas finally dismounts and helps the men set up tents, making sure to keep his distance from Axel who helps unloads whatever supplies is needed for the camp. As Roxas sets up his own tent with Demyx's help, he sets aside his bow and sheath of arrows, leaving only his knives and daggers and his pistol.

Stepping out and scouring the campsite, Roxas can feel the air is getting colder. Winter is soon approaching, and they won't be able to survive if most of their intended game is hibernating.

Roxas makes his way over to Zexion's tent, which twice the size of the other camps since he has equipment that "must be kept out of harsh weather conditions." Pushing the curtain aside, Roxas finds Zexion hunched over a rectangular table pressed lengthwise against the side of the tent. Beakers and vials contain many colored liquids; some set over burners and are boiling with bubbles brimming the surface. Small thin tubes connect to one another all across the table, linking to other testubes or to small flat round containers. Stacks of books take up one corner of the tent near his bedroll, corners of loose papers poking out of the sides.

"I assume you're bothering me for good reason?" Zexion says without even taking his eyes off of whatever he's doing.

"I'd watch your tongue, Zexion. I still hold enough power to make sure you know your place." Roxas says, his tone harsher than he intends.

"But it's not like you'd do it."

Roxas cracks a small smile. "Seems outside of the guild you tongue is sharp as silver."

Zexion still doesn't officially acknowledge him as Roxas settles himself into Zexion's bedroll. He ghosts his fingers over the spines of the stack of leather, none of titles he recognized, though one author was familiar.

"You still didn't answer my questions. So I repeat, why are you here?"

"Eh, you're your jolly nature, your engaging conversation, take your pick." says Roxas.

Zexion snickers.

"Plus you're the only person I know who won't pry me with questions."

"Why would I ask?"

"No one seems to favor my freezing in the midst of battle." says Roxas.

"It did seem rather, out of character." Zexion says.

"If I could explain it, I would."

Finally Zexion pauses his scribbling into his latest journal and turns around to face Roxas, clapping his hands together and placing the pen back into the ink bottle. "But I assume you're here for more than just to try and attempt to explain that to me?"

Roxas sighs. "Would you be mad if I say I'm using you to avoid Axel?"

"I'd be worried if you didn't." Zexion says, a small smile on his lips. "And to be honest, I do think that what he said was uncalled for."

"Thank you."

There's a moment of silence and Roxas turns his attention to the stack of books. "Is there anything I can help with, perhaps?"

"I prefer to work alone." Zexion denies. "However, I could use some company."

Roxas gives a small smile. "Thank you."

While Zexion returns to his work, Roxas chooses the book that seems the most interesting, flips onto his back and starts to read.

He's gone through every book, cover to cover, and Zexion having corked up at least three beakers of various size, Roxas retreats back into the camp and wanders outside the perimeter. He exchanges a friendly nod with Zack and Cid as they're on nightly patrol for the hour.

Tugging his jacket tight around his shoulders, he takes a stroll at the most relaxing pace that he can, but he still can't seem to be totally relaxed. There's no river bend closest to them, so Roxas ends up climbing dangerously high settling on the branches of an oak tree. With no leaves, Roxas presses his back to the rough bark and crosses his legs at the ankles. He keeps the dagger kept in a hidden sheath strapped to his wrist tightly gripped in his hand.

His thoughts drift back to the citizens of Hallows Eve. It disturbs Roxas highly on how so quickly they had jumped to the conclusion that Roxas and the Faceless, when Roxas is struggling enough to join their faction and keep his group of surviving rebels alive and out of his father's grasp. Perhaps that meager conversation stirred something. Though it's been a while since Roxas had been tracked or in contact with his father; which does disturb him even more.

Could it be that he really did not survive the explosion of the old campsite? Roxas knows better than to hope, or underestimate such a fantasy. Nor can he deny the small heaviness that hurts his heart at the thought of his father dead.

Even after everything he's done, Roxas still feels pity and possible grief at the thought of losing his father. He did raise, Roxas, care for him in his own way. Perhaps if he just learns to, redirect the love . . .

Roxas twirls the dagger between his fingers. The forest is as quiet as the dead themselves. No crickets, no foraging animals, not even the crunching of twigs.

Risking shutting his eyes, they becoming so dry that it confuses him into thinking he's tried Roxas exhales heavily and steadies his breathing.

A tingle crawls up his spine. He can sense the danger before it happens. Maybe it was a shift in the wind, or the hollow sound of metal, but Roxas' eyes shoot open and he leaps off of his branch as a throwing star embeds into the bark.

Roxas' feet just land on another branch when he feels a knee jab into his back. Roxas tumbles to the dirt but rolls coming up on one knee.

It was a member of the Faceless from the cloak and wrappings, and judging from the built, it was Maleek.

Roxas can't help but cockily smile. "You know, if you wanted another date, you had but to ask."

"Hmph, you wish I was here for that." Maleek responds, Roxas can tell behind the cloth covering his face that he's sneering. His mask now replaced by a white cloth.

"Then what else is there?"

Without answering, Maleek draws two ebony daggers, spinning them blade out and charging for Roxas. Roxas spins the blade of his dagger out. Maleek weaves out of the way and slashes aside Roxas' first few jabs. Roxas continues to parry only to watch Maleek slash and dodge them like nothing.

"If you want this fight to be good, stop playing around." Maleek taunts.

Roxas snarls and charges forward, shooting an arrow at him. When he blocks it, Roxas is leaping over him and rolls backwards drawing the dagger hidden on his belt. Roxas barely misses a dagger that slices a few strands of his hair. Spinning his weapons and taking a fighting stance, Roxas readies as Maleek approaches spinning his dagger between his fingers.

Roxas quickly throws two knives to distract him while he grabs an explosive from his belt. As Maleek blocks the second dagger, Roxas throws the bomb and it explodes on impact. Maleek coughs as smoke erupts around him. Roxas hears the thump of a body on the ground seconds later. His daggers scatter and Roxas makes sure to kick them aside as he carefully approaches.

As he's within his second step, Maleek flinches, kicking Roxas' legs out from under him and spins up to one knee.

"Cloth is enchanted. Acts like a built in filter." He smugly says.

Roxas grits his teeth as his back slaps the ground. He brings his leg up and goes to kick him. Maleek grabs it, but Roxas spins and jabs his shoulder. As Roxas' feet plant on the ground, Maleek suddenly grabs both Roxas' wrists and pins them behind his back. Roxas instantly rams his head back and nails Maleek's chin, though the pain prickles along the crown of his head.

Maleek's grip loosens and Roxas wrenches himself free. Roxas spins to meet him face to face, and can see a dot of red begin to spread around his nose area.

Suddenly screams erupt from the campsite. Roxas' heart sinks.

"No!"

Then someone grabs her from behind.

Roxas starts to scream, but a hand claps over his mouth. It smells like soap and it's big enough to cover the lower half of his face. Roxas thrashes, but the arms holding him are too strong, and he bites down on one of the fingers.

"Ow!" a shrill voice cries.

Someone shoves a sack over his head while someone else pushes her against a tree. Roxas struggles to breathe and thrashes against them. Struggling with the fabric covering his face, there are at least two hands on his arms, dragging him forward, and one still on his mouth. All he can think of is screaming for Axel, but the cloth sucks into his mouth whenever he breathes in, keeping his screams in. His chest hurts. Someone bends his arms behind his back hard enough that Roxas is screaming with agony.

They stop and he can feel hands cuff his wrists, bound by rope that chafes his skin. He's pushed in different directions, stumbling over his own feet. Roxas tries to see through the fibers of whatever is over her head, but they are too dense and it is too dark. A part of him assumes someone will see him, but then again, if the screams are in the direction of the campsite, no one will stop them. Roxas heart drops in his stomach. They walk for several minutes, shoving him down as he continuously struggles. Roxas tries to see the world ahead of him, relying on nothing but the outlines of what he can make out.

The darkness of the woods obscures anything that would normally be recognizable. Roxas can't tell how long they've been walking, but the sound of crackling fire and a smell of singed tarp permeates his senses. Throat tightening, Roxas can see the remains of the fire all around them. The sounds of creaking wood and grunting men reach his ears.

"Roxas!" Vanitas shouts. Vanitas! He's alive! The wind blows the sack against Roxas' cheeks, and he hears the howling around him.

Soon Roxas hears what sounds like men being shoved to their knees. Roxas doesn't know if they're covered too, since Vanitas could spot him. But soon his voice gets muffled and it struggles. Everyone must be covered, discrepancy is key for any assassins. Perhaps that's why Roxas isn't so panicked. In fact, he almost wants to rejoice if this means what he thinks it means. Still, he worries for his fellow mutineers.

"We've got them, but do we really need all of them?" one female asks. The sound of a sword being drawn, and being whirled sounds.

Roxas snarls and abruptly stops, stomping his foot into his caper's foot. She howls and Roxas bumps her aside with his shoulder. As he hears one draw a bow, Roxas dives for the ground, rolling backwards, looping his bum and feet through the hole of his arms so they face up front.

As the one fires the arrow, Roxas bends back effortlessly at an uncomfortable angle, bringing up his hands, the arrow slicing through the ropes.

Roxas grins and barrels towards her. He dodges two that go to attack him, snatching at least two daggers before he manages to slice at the one Faceless' leg and grabbing her by the neck with his elbow. He kicks off the ground and momentarily swings around her and then chucks her to the ground.

Even with the burlap sack covering his head, he still has other senses. Lexaeus specially trained him to learn how to use his senses. He gave him the fact that when you eliminate one sense, the others get stronger. Immediately he whirls around and stops another Faceless diving down on him with two red dagger-like blades designed for rapid attacks. The hilt instead though is changed to a round outer guard surrounding the handle.

But the moment he hears the metallic clang, he kicked in the side and sent sprawling into the dirt. He can't even rise when a foot presses on his back. Roxas seethes with his teeth and flinches when he feels a pointed end of a syringe poke into the side of his neck.

"No!" Roxas screams, he struggles and the tip of the needle catches the skin of his neck to it hurts even more.

"Relax." a soft spoken voice coos.

"Fuck you." Roxas breathes.

Roxas feels the effects of the serum immediately. It makes his blood feel like lead in his veins. He collapses onto the ground.

"Well at least he's as fiery as you promised, Maleek." says another female voice.

"If only he would realize when to stop fighting." says Maleek.

"Well your initiation isn't exactly calming." another one argues.

"What the fuck do you want with us?" Roxas demands, a bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck.

"Isn't it obvious, dumbass?" says another Faceless, her voice is monotone. Almost bored and uncaring.

Roxas' body feels heavier now, but no longer cold. He feels something stir in his chest, something worse than fear, worse than sadness. He feels a weight crush him. It feels like he's made of stone. But Maleek lifts him effortlessly to his feet and Roxas can feel iron clamp around his wrists. Chains jingle and clink as they're pulled tight, making Roxas wince from the sting.

"Roxas?" Axel pleads. "Are you okay?"

Before Roxas can retort, he's shoved forward, and the group is all hauled to their feet. "Just come quietly and this'll be over a whole lot quicker." Maleek says.

Roxas looks over his shoulder and finds Maleek holding the chains. The chains literally just connect to the cuffs on Roxas' wrist and then wrap around Maleek's hand. As Roxas goes to take the first step, he collapses as they feel like his bones have been replaced with water.

"What's wrong with him?" says the soft spoken Faceless.

"It's the serum." Maleek says.

"What? Serum?! What the hell did you do to him?!" Axel demands. Roxas struggles to push himself up with his hands tied behind his back and a burlap sack covering his head.

"Shut up and keep walking!" a harsher female's voice hisses. Axel hisses as he feels the tip of a blade poke his spine.

Roxas manages to push to his knees, but he can't even bring himself to clench his muscles to rise to his feet. He peers over his shoulder again and sees the chain. Seconds later, feet come up to him and Roxas turns in time to see Maleek wrap an arm around Roxas' shoulder and the other under his knees. His body leaves the ground and Roxas takes note of how Maleek keeps his hand away from Roxas'. It's flattering almost how he's taking such precautionary measures since it is possible that Roxas can break out of the chains when given the opportunity.

Roxas adjusts himself in Maleek's arms, having to press himself into Maleek's chest so that he's more comfortable.

"Well aren't you a kinky bastard." Maleek smiles at him. Roxas snarls and imagines reaching up and pinching at Maleek's knuckles, digging his nails into his skin. His head is starting to ache and his control feels almost gone.

"What did you do to the others?" Roxas sneers.

"Everyone's alive." Maleek retorts with the same amount of annoyance. "Relax."

"Roxas?" Demyx calls, slightly panicked.

"It's okay, Demyx. Just go with it." Roxas informs.

He turns to Maleek, imagine as best he can and ask, "I assume you're taking us to where I think we're going?"

"Yes." Maleek answers flatly.

"If I may also ask: If we're going to your headquarters, in a matter of hours, why is it so important to keep this thing over my head?"

This seems to temporarily stump Maleek and the Faceless.

"A day contains many dangers. You of all people should know that." Maleek responds.

"Plus, if you don't get accepted into the Faceless, we need to make sure you don't know where we liv -"

"If I wasn't accepted already, you wouldn't even be collecting me. I'd be dead, or at least you would have attempted." Roxas interrupts her. "Also if I don't get accepted you will either kill me or let me go, because once you say no, I couldn't care less what you do."

Together after a moment of silence, only Roxas' sack is removed from his head. He blinks and focuses on Maleek who gives him a closed lip smile and a wink. The group starts walking, and Roxas is worried about their campsite and supplies, not wanting to abandon it. But then again will they need it anymore?

With years of bounties and break outs out of jail, Roxas is accustomed to being escorted everywhere in shackles and at sword point.

They stride down dirt paths, up large enough hills, and around and around until Roxas hasn't the slightest chance of finding their ways around again.

At least, that is their escorts' intention, because Roxas hasn't failed to notice when they went up and down the same hill within a matter of minutes. Nor had Roxas missed when they zigzagged between forest trails, even though the forest is a standard grid of hallways and valley hills. As if he'd lose his bearings that easily. He might have been insulted if they weren't trying so hard.

They entered a particularly wide clearing, silent save for their footsteps. They passed a small patch of moss covered rocks that he'd seen a few minutes ago. If he wanted to escape, he simply had to turn left at the next thick trunked tree and take the river bend down for three meters. The only thing all the intended disorientation had accomplished is to familiarize him with the forest. Idiots.

Of course Roxas wouldn't do that because that means endangering and even abandoning his friends. And Roxas won't do that. He won't lose another friend.

As they get closer Roxas manages to spot a rotted pair of columns, overgrown with vines and once again reclaimed by nature. The closer they get, the more he can tell it's an opening to the foundation of an iron and stone fence. Like a hideout.

Then at the last minute, the burlap sack is whipped back onto Roxas head. He struggles at first, but then settles when he hears Maleek's voice. "This is just one of our safe houses. If our master likes you, we will travel with you to our actual headquarters."

"Will they be as exciting as this?" Roxas a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Even with the confidence in his tone, terror rips a white-hot path through Roxas' body, and he can barely breathe.

"You go alone." Maleek says.

Strong fingers grip his shoulders. They lift Roxas and he flails uncontrollably as his feet try to find the ground again. Being blind is the scariest thing.

"Roxas?" Vanitas calls.

His feet pound something, and it's stone.

"I'm fine." He tries to wrench away and nearly falls as the stone dips down.

A strong arm – most likely Maleek's arm, wraps protectively around Roxas' shoulder. Stairs. Roxas tries to feel and hear the stone scratch under his weight. It's leading into something. Normally Roxas would shrug off their hands, but since he's blind and doesn't know what he's getting into, he grips their hands as they guide him. He's walking with three strangers on his heels. Then he's harshly shoved through the door archway, and it takes the small fire and rectangular outlines to realize he's entering a room. They take three steps in before they let go of Roxas with a shove that propels him backward further into the room.

The kidnappers make sure to strip Roxas of his weapons. Roxas' knees threaten to collapse beneath him. He stumbles over his own feet and crumples to the floor, twisting his body in midair so he lands with his back facing it the exit. The sack covering his head is yanked off, letting air infect his nose. The light temporarily blinds him, but once everything focuses, it reveals a throne room. The stone around them dilutes the evening sun into something dim and grey.

One of the women wrapped in black and purple braces herself against the doorway and stands, a serrated dagger in hand. A thin white cloth covering the gap left for her eyes.

A glass chandelier shaped like a grapevine occupies most of the ceiling, spitting seeds of diamond fire onto the windows along the far side of the room. Compared to the bleakness outside those windows, the opulence feels like a slap to the face. the clapping of his boots squeak from wet leaves stuck to the bottom.

Another Faceless member sits on the ornate redwood throne. Educated guess, she's the leader. With the serum wearing off, Roxas scrambles to his feet.

"Tifa, we brought the boy you wanted." The one faceless guarding the door speaks.

"Though, I don't know why. Seems like a waste." another chimes.

"I don't pay you to give opinions, Paine." Tifa, speaks.

Roxas looks ahead and sees the woman take one step down from the platform. Her cloak is a deep purple with shadows tendrils swirling about it. Though it tries to obscure it, Roxas can tell that her body bends and curves like it's supposed to.

"I pay you to obey orders. And you need to make sure you handle my, precious gem with more care." The woman sneers.

Roxas face goes from blank to feral in a heartbeat. Irrational anger boils over the brim of his patience and tolerance. He curls his lips into a fierce snarl. Before he can stop himself, Roxas whips his hidden boot knife out of its sheath, raises it above his head and rushes toward the woman. Roxas is screaming, harsh bursts of sound that flay the air.

Tifa flips back and whips one arm up. Roxas suddenly feels three sharp tips pierce his chest; one misses his heart by mere inches. Roxas swings his dagger, but Tifa weaves out of the way. Roxas vision begins to blur and then he realizes the darts are poisoned. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. His stomach churns as everything blurs together.

Roxas still strikes but misses, then when Tifa's leg suddenly twitches, nailing Roxas in the jaw. This pain is different, less like a stab and more like a crackle, crackling in his brain, spotting his vision with different colors, blue, green, red.

The next thing he feels is his hair yanked and a hand grabbing him by the back of his neck before being thrown to the icy marble floor. Pain slams through his face, light splintering his vision.

"That is the proper way to greet your future Mistress." One of the members snaps at Roxas.

Roxas hisses, baring his teeth as he twists his head to look at the kneeling bastard. But of course the purple and black wrappings and hood make it hard to decipher any features. If Roxas could move his right arm just a few inches, he can throw her off balance and grab her sword. The poison darts dig into his stomach, and fizzing, boiling rage turns his face scarlet.

After a far too long moment, the Mistress speaks. "I don't quite comprehend why you'd force someone to bow when the purpose of the gesture is to display allegiance and respect." Her words are coated with glorious boredom.

Roxas tries to pivot his free eye to the Mistress, but can only see a pair of black wrapped greaves against the white floor.

"It's clear that _you_ respect me, Rikku, but it's unnecessary to put such effort into forcing _Roxas Skyes_ to have to have the same opinion. You and I know very well he has not love for my family. So perhaps your intent is to humiliate him." she pauses, and Roxas could've sworn her eyes fell on his face. "But I think he's had enough of that."

Understanding the dismissal, his tormentor grunts and releases him. Roxas peels his cheek from the marble but lies on the floor until she stands and leaves. If Roxas manages to escape, perhaps he'd hunt down this Rikku lady and return the warmth of her greeting.

As Roxas rises, he frowns at the imprint of grit he left behind on the otherwise spotless floor, and at the clank of his shackles echoing through the silent room.

But then his head feels light and he falls to being propped on his elbows.

"Well you certainly showed the limit of your poison immunity." Tifa smiles.

Roxas can't move his arm to even push the strands of his hair out of his face. He slips on his side and winces, gritting teeth as he tries to move.

"Such a fighting spirit. I like that."

"Wha- What do -" Roxas struggles to say.

"Hush, my child." Tifa presses a wrapped finger to Roxas' lip. "I think you'll make a fine member to my collection. The fire of my cause burns deep within you. You can do better than that shameful Shadow Guild."

It takes a delicious moment for Roxas to understand.

The muscles in his face relax, and his heart thrums with excitement at the woman's words. But what stuns him the most is how gentle her eyes seem despite Roxas having attacked her, and her having to shoot at least three poison darts into his chest to contain him. All he can do in answer is raise his eyebrows in surprise and pray that the hope he feels will show through his eyes.

Tifa smiles, at least, Roxas thinks she does. She lifts her hand and cups Roxas' cheek and lifts it ever so slightly off the ground. Her thumb strokes Roxas' cheek. With the poison spreading into Roxas' veins, he can't resist. He can barely move his lips at this point, as he's lost all feeling.

Tifa places Roxas' cheek back on the ground and suddenly, lifts the cloth and untwists the wrappings about her head.

Roxas startles at the woman revealed beneath the wrappings. She is gorgeous by anyone's standards. Full lips, smooth cheeks, and vibrant eyes. Their deep color reminds Roxas of a polished brown. Tifa runs a hand through her long and dark, waist-length brown hair, pulling out tangles, no easy task given how tightly it has been restricted and how covered with sweat it is. Yet she is striking without even trying. Any woman that sights her would feel both jealousy and annoyance.

The thought of beauty stings him deeply.

"You're . . ." Roxas starts to say, envious of her for a moment, but then realizes how ridiculous is sounds.

"I know." Tifa says. "Trust me . . . I know."

Tifa takes Roxas' cheek again, cupping it in the palm of her hand.

"You have a beauty as well, and ferocious spirit that has been wounded. I can tell. Still you fight. Determination? Or impulsiveness? Either way, I will have you." Tifa smiles.

"I am honored." Roxas says, his voice straining.

He fought the poison. And in that short moment he's gained the advantage of showing dominance.

He feels triumphant.

"You hold the skill of so many before you, but still you lack control. A beautiful gem like you is, rough around the edges. Join me, Roxas."

Suddenly Tifa leans in and presses her lips to Roxas' forehead. Roxas' eyes widen, yet his body relaxes. Tifas lips feel smooth and cold against Roxas' warm skin, though he doesn't remember having a fever.

"Join me, Roxas." She repeats. "And I can teach you to shine."

Roxas gives a shaking exhale.

"You will belong to me." Tifa says, nearly promising.

She lets go of Roxas' face and turns. Her cape brushes the floor with a whisper.

"Take him away." Tifa demands. "But take good care of him. Ensure everyone of his caravan is well fed and well rested. I want you to lead him through the trails, staying clear of the cities, and I will see you back at the

Seconds later, hands grab Roxas and lift him from the ground. They cradle him, and given he's frozen, Roxas can only gaze at the wall on the other side of the arm. He closes his eyes as the tears come.

His head pounds, as if his thoughts are clustered and crammed into his skull. He rests his head against the chest of whoever carries him.

They've accepted him. Even with his rebellious spirit, Roxas somehow managed to impress the Mistress. And she wants all members of his party to live. She sounded as if she cared for them like her own children.

He did it.

They've made it.

They are Faceless.


	14. Chapter 13

Roxas wakes on a large bed stuffed draped with the layers of silk sheets. Bandages wrap the cuts across his body, every one of them stinging like a freshly open wound. The room is dark and without windows, but light from the hallway creeps in through the crack of the door, allowing her to see.

He wakes to aches and pains. He cringes as he sits up, holding his ribs. Pulling the blanket off, he blinks to steady his vision and tries to stand. His legs wobble and his head suddenly feels like it's filled with helium. He sits back down and tries to suppress the wave of nausea boiling inside his stomach. When was the last time he ate?

Suddenly the room brightens and Roxas shields his eyes. There's the sound of a match striking then the room slowly grows warm with light. Footsteps enter and Roxas blinks to regain his vision.

"Glad to see you're finally up." a voice speaks. Roxas freezes when he hears that it's a male voice.

He looks up to find a man shirtless with his back facing Roxas. Beside his feet is a sack made out of a pillow case and rope. Instantly Roxas' face reddens and he clears his throat. Still he can't help but peer at the simple yet detailed designs of the tattoo. It curves just under his shoulder blades before it turns upwards into spirals. His muscles expand and contract as he reaches into a mahogany dresser drawer and pulls out a simple grey shirt.

Roxas is about to open his mouth to ask who he is, until he remembers there's only one male member of the Faceless. Maleek. As he turns, Roxas' mouth drops open and his eyes widen without his consent.

Maleek was tall and muscular with blonde hair that overlaps on his forehead. His skin is as golden has his hair. Peeking out behind some strands, Roxas can see his ears with a simple black earlobe piercing. The tattoo continues over his shoulders and across his chest. The ink glides under his collarbone and delicately curves just at the top of his ribcage, several swoops coil down his biceps. He stands, shirtless, holding a grey shirt. His incredible eyes – strikingly blue, the color of the waters of the southern countries - finally meet Roxas' and he raises an eyebrow.

Roxas clamps her mouth closed and clears his throat. "Maleek?"

"You recognized me. I was worried those poison darts had neutralized you, but you actually handled them better than any other person." He says.

He was achingly handsome, and couldn't have been older than twenty.

Roxas instantly floods with embarrassment and stands to his feet. He's about to say something back when his head pounds harshly and he's forced to sit back down. He holds his head and tries to breathe deeply to relieve the pain.

"Take it easy, hot-shot." Maleek continues. "The poison's still working its way out of your system."

"Thanks, I didn't realize that." Roxas sarcastically snaps back.

"We patched up your wounds as best we could, but by the gods boy you have more than any mercenary I've known." Maleek almost compliments.

Roxas forces himself to stand as the pain slowly subsides. He lifts his head and realizes he's in a large bedroom. The room resembles the size of the rooms of what once was the mansion in Twilight Town, except it's possibly, bigger.

The walls are a peaceful, calm color with naturist wall ornaments and a huge tiered crystal chandelier dripping from the ceiling. The floors are mainly wood with a thick plush carpet stretching the length of the room. There's a large floor to ceiling window with cross-hatched X's along the glass. The thick gold-and-red velvet draperies spilling from the window, like motionless crimson waterfalls. Enormous tapestries hung over the walls. Marble floor-to-ceiling pillars stand at every corner of the room, while a large fireplace plays as centerpiece of the room; a gold clock is the only thing on the mantle. Around the fireplace are couches and armchairs with delicate designs and embroidered pillows.

There's a mahogany hutch, wardrobe and dresser all together on one wall with a vanity across the way. Next to the bed is an end table with a glass of water. The bed itself is a four-post, canopy bed with elegant curtains tied to the posts. When not tied, Roxas assumes that they can be pulled closed for privacy.

Roxas soon realizes that he's without a shirt and pants, finding them folded neatly on a table near the couch. Bandages wraps around most of his body, making look like an undead corpse, set to live in Hallows' Eve. Roxas drapes his legs over the edge of the bed and looks down when his toes don't touch the floor. He hops off and stretches he legs.

"So, you said this is only a safe house?" Roxas asks.

"No you're in the bedroom of his majesty, King Mickey."

Roxas looks to him with a crack of a smile. "Very funny."

"I thought of it myself." Maleek retorts.

Roxas clamps his mouth shut to stop from shouting at him. Not only is his voice rough enough as it is, if he yells, he's bound to reactivate the pounding headache. So he merely walks up to the vanity mirror; trying not to stare at Maleek as he dumps a pale blue tunic into the pillowcase sack. As expected, there is a dark blur bruise on Roxas' cheek, and the bandages wrap around him smooth and press firmly on his wounds. Roxas goes over to the table reaching out a hand to grasp his tunic when his knee suddenly gives out.

A clipped cry stops in his throat as the room spins, coming to a halt with his chest pressed against the large, flat palm of Maleek's arm. Roxas' hands have instinctively reached up and now grasp Maleek's forearm. Cheeks turning red, Roxas tries to make himself steady as he can as he feels Maleek's other hand press into the small on his back and hoist Roxas to his feet.

With skin touching skin, Roxas prays for his cheeks not to betray him as he wobbles to the left and right into Maleek's chest. Still Roxas' hands grip Maleek's shoulder.

"Whoa, careful. Take it easy." Maleek says with a gentle tone.

Roxas looks up to him and for a moment thinks back to how Axel had said the near same thing to him after Roxas was in the midst of recovering from the bite and venom of a mermaid. He held Roxas just like this, nearly carrying him as Roxas' legs were weak from misuse.

Lifting his fingers to his neck, Roxas stares into Maleek's blue eyes as Roxas' fingertips trace over the remnants of the bite mark on his neck.

If Roxas were to stand up straight, his eyes would be in line with Maleek's collarbone, the black ink curling and gracefully dancing across parts of his skin. Roxas' fingertips drift to the flame tattoo over his heart, and he can feel it beating steadily.

Maleek doesn't break their gazes, in fact, his cheeks turn pink before his eyes flick above Roxas' head and he clears his throat. "Um, here, why don't I bring you your clothes." He suggests.

Roxas snaps from his daze, blinking a few times before folding his lips in and regaining feeling in his muscles. "Um, no. I'll try and pace around."

"I'd suggest with clothes on." Maleek grins.

Roxas nods and allows Maleek to keep a hand pressed in between his shoulder blades as he's stiffly walks back to the bed. Sitting back on the mattress, the warmth beckons Roxas back under the silk covers and the fluffy pillows. Still Roxas leans halfway on the bed as Maleek fetches his clothes.

"So, where are the others?" Roxas asks, surprising himself when his voice isn't laced with the slightest bit of panic.

"Well, after taking well over forty-five minutes of explaining to them, while trying to assure them they're in good hands, they've all settled down for the night." Maleek informs. He hands Roxas his tunic and pants, and sets the knee-high boots aside.

Roxas can't help but snicker at imagining Maleek and the other Faceless women trying to explain everything while holding their unconscious leader in his arms. Roxas pulls on the tunic and steps into his pants, then nestling into the soft soles of his boots.

When the pounding randomly starts again, Roxas sits with his elbows to his knees, head braced between his hands. He can feel Maleek's gaze on him, and despite the urge of wanting to cry, no tears come. His happiness and joy towards the Faceless devours his urge to cry. Roxas looks back to Maleek as he shrugs the grey shirt up over his head.

"So, who _are_ the Faceless, Maleek?" Roxas asks.

Maleek chuckles as he ruffles his hair. "As if you don't know about us already?"

"I got the basics. Never cared to learn more. Now I have a reason."

"You should've cared before blindly joining." Maleek remarks.

"Just answer my question."

Maleek takes his sweet time to adjust his shirt and fix his hair before answering. "We, are an elite group of shadowy assassins. And we're very good at what we do. We kill for justice and for the vengeance of women all around the plains of each kingdom."

"You also seem to be quite the gloats as well." Roxas grins. "So, if they're supposed to be a group of women, what makes _you_ the exception? Unless you're only here to stimulate other means of pleasure."

Maleek secures the rope around the pillowcase and double knots it. He looks Roxas straight in the eye, and Roxas can't help but shiver at how intense they appear.

"I rescued a group of women from a brothel."

Roxas' throat suddenly tightens, and when he tries to swallow, it feels as if there's a wad of cotton stuck. His hands grow cold and a shiver runs down his spine.

"The man running the brothel was abusive to the girls. However way you picture it, it was like that, and worse." Maleek continues. "I was part of an army group and we entered the tavern one night after hours. I was against it from the start, but they brought me along for backup. When one girl came up to me, she whispered in my ear to come to her chambers."

Maleek shifts so his arms are crossed and he's leaning against the dresser.

"When I got there, she sat me down; but I told her I wasn't looking for anything. Then she told me about the abuse towards the girls in this club."

"She just told you everything? After one sentence of introduction?" Roxas asks, unconvinced.

"She did say that I was different. But to this day I still don't have a clear explanation as to why. But I was so mad that she barely finished before I got up and stormed out of the room. I went down and sliced the throats of my own squad members, and then I went for the bastard who owns the club, and sliced his head off with his fancy pen." Maleek continues.

Roxas feels his shoulders shudder, but instead of feeling fear, he feels a warmth budding in his chest. He saved women from an abusive man _and_ lifestyle; even if it meant killing his own men.

"Were you ever charged?" Roxas asks.

"They never found the bodies. The girls took the blame saying it was for self-defense, including for the manager."

Roxas' eyes widen. "They took the blame? For all of it?"

"Yes, pay attention. Anyway, I managed to slip out of the city and I was recruited by the Faceless, maybe, a month later." Maleek finishes.

"So, how old are you?" Diamond asks.

"I'm twenty."

"And how long have you been with the Faceless since the . . . incident." Roxas asks.

"I've been with them about, three years." Maleek answers.

Roxas stares at the floor for a second. "You were only seventeen." He nearly whispers.

Maleek look to him and blinks. "Yep. And congrats, you managed to complete the math without cracking your skull." He slyly smiles.

Roxas snarls, but he says, "Well now I can't really take that asshole act, despite how great you are at it."

"Who says it's an act?"

"What you did; for those girls. That was, nice of you. Not even nice. Heroic. So are you, a good guy?" Roxas asks.

Maleek looks to him, and Roxas manages to get his eyes to widen slightly with surprise. Roxas expects a smart remark, so he can't help but blush when he hears Maleek chuckle. The sound is soft and breathy, but he could still hear it. Maleek looks to him with a smile on his lips and Roxas can feel the warmth of his cheeks betray him.

Maleek chuckles again before leaving the room.

Roxas half expects him to lean into the doorway and give him an answer, but he never returns.

_What the hell_? Roxas thinks. _He never answered, so what's that supposed to mean_?!

He tries to think of the answer himself, with no avail. If he saved the girls, that makes him good. But if he's an assassin, he's bad, but the Faceless kill for the vengeance of women, does that make him good?

Sighing Roxas ruffles his hair, curious as to what Maleek means, but quickly forgets as he beholds the sunlight.

Pure, fresh, warm sunlight. Sunlight that he can bask in day after day now that he's gotten something close to freedom, sunlight to drown out the endless dark of the night. It leaks through the heavy drapes, smearing itself across the room in thick lines. Gingerly, Roxas stretches out a hand.

His hand is pretty tan, from spending the last few months in the sunlight. There's also something about it, something beyond the bruises and cuts and scars, that seems beautiful and new in the morning light.

Roxas runs to the window and nearly rips the curtains from their hangers as he opens them to the grey mountains and bleakness of the land. Roxas' lips peel into a smile. He turns to find Maleek back in the doorway with normal clothes and with raised eyebrows, but he says nothing.

Roxas was cheerful – jubilant, really – and his mood improves when the servants of the safe house walk past the doorway carrying supplies meant to be brought back out to the carts and horses. Roxas fluffs his hair in front of the vanity mirror one more time before he heads out the door, Maleek stepping out of the way. The budding sky makes him want to dance and skip down the halls before they enter the main yard.

Yapping fills the air, and three black dogs sprint from then center of the caravan to greet him. They are each sleek as arrows – undoubtedly from the King's kennels. Roxas kneels on one knee, laughing as he cups their heads and strokes their smooth hair. They lick his fingers and face, their tails slashing the ground like whips.

"Roxas!" A voice calls. Roxas stands and to his surprise, turns around in time to have Axel collide with him and wrap his arms around him and pulling Roxas close. Even more so, Roxas hugs him back. Axel pulls back and examines Roxas like a mother would a child, and Roxas only laughs as he takes Axel's wrists in his hands.

"I'm fine, Axel." Roxas says. His smile must've seemed uncharacteristically wide since Axel raises a questionable eyebrow at the blond, causing him to goofily laugh even more. "I promise."

With a kiss on Axel's cheek, Roxas trudges off to the decrepit stables where the horses remained parked, and where Maleek adjusted the reins of a particularly stunning grey stallion with black dots sprinkled all across its neck and body.

Demyx walks up to Axel with a matching look of exasperation. "He's in a good mood today." Demyx says.

"Yeah, I don't know if I like it." Axel replies as he watches Roxas talk to Maleek.

"Because you weren't the one who caused it?" Demyx grins, poking his elbow into Axel's side. Axel glares and places his hand on Demyx's cheek, shoving him aside, erupting a laugh from the dirty-haired blond.

As Roxas approaches Maleek, the hounds play and bark with one another, and as Roxas approaches, the dogs immediately clam and sit. Roxas smiles and scratches one of the dogs behind the ears.

"How unusual for them to notice you." Maleek says. "Did you give them food?" Roxas shakes his head. "Are you fond of dogs?"

Roxas nods.

"Am I going to be blessed with the pleasure of hearing your voice, or have you resolved to be silent for the duration of our journey?"

"I'm afraid your questions didn't merit a verbal response." Roxas smirks. "So, how long will it take before we reach your headquarters?" Roxas asks. He speaks softly so that no one else can hear. Even with the Faceless finally on their side, Roxas still feared his father even though now he feels that the Faceless could take him down.

"Uh, best assumption is two weeks." Maleek answers as he gathers the leather reins and escorts the horse forward.

As Roxas follows, he looks around, and where he expects to find the other Faceless members from last night, he only finds his group. "What happened to the others?" Roxas asks.

"They scoured ahead. The first half went through our path to ensure no traps and robbers or guards. They'll join our party once we pass by." Maleek says. "Anyway, if you want to get going, we can leave now."

Roxas nods and broadly steps up onto the back wheels and onto a small stack of crates strapped securely down to the cart. He sticks both his pointer fingers in between his lips and releases a shriek, high whistle that turns the heads of everyone.

"All right guys! We are heading out. It'll two weeks until we reach out destination. I'd advise using all restrooms now, and pick who rides what while on journey. We will switch out positions when we come to stops. Understood?" several members no and others shout "Here! Here!" raising their fists into the air.

Roxas steps down and mounts a horse of pure ebony. The hounds bark and scuttle around the legs of the horses, and Roxas fears they will spook the animals when Maleek gives them an order in a language he hasn't heard of, and the hounds cease immediately, scuttling around towards the back of the caravans.

The sky comes closer, and it stretches forever above Roxas, away and away to distant lands he feels ready to traverse once more without much fear for the lives of his members. Off to his left he can see Terra, Cid and Leon taking the rest of the horses while the crew decides to either walk or ride on the back of the carts. The sounds of the horses echo like rolling thunder.

As the morning wears on, the sky becomes a crisp blue with hardly a cloud. Taking the forest road, they swiftly pass from the mountainous wasteland and into the fairer country. Of which Roxas and the guild masters switch out their turns, Maleek staying on his own horse – the speckled grey stallion.

By midmorning, they are within the 100 Acre Forest, the wood that surrounds Notre Dame and serves as a continental divide between the "civilized" countries of the east, and the uncharted Pride Lands of the West. Legends are still told of the strange and deadly people of the fallen Lion Kingdom. Roxas had once met a young woman from that cursed land, and though she'd turned out to be both cruel and bloodthirsty, she was just a human. And had still bled like one.

After hours of silence, Roxas hears Demyx call. He turns to look over his shoulder to find the man with one arm slumped across the edge of the cart, a look of exaggerated starvation on his face. "Roxas! How much longer? My little tush is starting to chafe."

"I told you it'd be a while Demyx. Just try and enjoy the sun. You look rather pale."

Demyx sticks out his tongue and turns back to face Luxord and Cid.

"Quite the bunch you have here." Maleek speaks.

"That's almost an understatement." Roxas leans forward on the saddle horn.

"I can almost see the differences just by their clothing. Different social classes?"

"Of a sort. Nearly half the men there are former pirates." Roxas says as he flicks his chin in the direction of Demyx, Luxord and Axel; Axel and Luxord involved in a game of cards. Axel finds Roxas motioning and waves giving a wink. Roxas smiles and blushes as he turns back.

"Pirates and thieves, that sounds like the title for a bad story." Maleek chuckles.

"I believe it is truly by the grace of the gods that they haven't shot the other in their sleep." Roxas laughs.

Horse hooves come up near Roxas and he doesn't have to look to know it's Vanitas. What now? Is he jealous? Shouldn't that be Axel's job?

Roxas turns to Maleek. "So, how is it, being with the Faceless in your opinion. What do they teach you?"

Maleek shrugs. "I guess what any training faction teaches. How to handle weapons, poisons, stealth. Same as any other assassin or thief faction." Maleek replies.

Roxas snorts.

"What? Something amusing?"

"It's just that, you speak as if every faction if the same. Their purposes maybe, but their techniques and ideals, they're different enough to rage war." Roxas replies.

"I know of your background, and the title you were destined to behold one day." Maleek says. "But of course I mean no disrespect."

"I don't care how you slander the name of my father's guilds. They are dead to me as he is." Roxas says, his tone suddenly growing cold.

There's a ghost of a smile on Maleek's face as he watches the sky. "Well, I knew all along that your father had a set goal for you. But what did your mother think of her son becoming Twilight Town's Assassin?"

"My mother is dead." Roxas says. "She died when I was eight."

"So you -"

Roxas' heart thunders in his chest. "I was born in Twilight Town, raised to be an assassin, then I ended up betraying my father, and now I'm here. And that's it."

Silence falls; then footsteps approach Roxas' left side. He finds Demyx again, this time with hands in his pockets and strolling along with the dogs as they bark and scour ahead.

The Maleek asks. "What was it like being under the tutelage of your father?"

For a moment Roxas has to bite his tongue before his lips move giving his first instinctive reply: It was a newfound form of torture that can only be described as abusive work and unappreciated success. Sighing through his nose, Roxas lifts his chin and keeps his gaze ahead.

"It was brutal, in ways that would break even the strongest of men, put the most imaginative torture to shame and make the monsters of the night cower in fear."

"Still can't tell if that's good or bad."

"Well I'm here with you, so what do you think?" Roxas picks at the dirt underneath his fingernails. When was the last time he had a bath?

The party halts in a clearing and Maleek dismounts. "Why have we stopped?" Demyx asks.

"Lunch." Maleek says.

Once everyone was unloaded, Axel comes up and kisses Roxas on the temple, and stays close to his side as the fire kindles and food is prepared. Usually this was the time Roxas would take to the woods with either Vanitas or Axel and they would hunt down whatever animal the most meat. But with Maleek as well as the supplies Genie had given them in Agrabah, all that needs to be done is set up a fire spit and clean off the food.

A few of Roxas' men roll logs to make a circle, where they sit while the others stir and fry. Maleek's dogs, who had dutifully trotted alongside their master, approach Roxas with wagging tails and lie at his feet.

The forest has gone silent. The ebony hounds' ears were erect, though they didn't seem to be bothered by the stillness. The leaves dangle like jewels – tiny droplets of ruby, pearl, topaz, amethyst, emerald and garnet; and a carpet of rush riches coats the forest floor around them. Despite the ravage on conquests, this part of the 100 Acre Woods remains untouched. It still echoes with the remnants of the power that had once given these trees such unnatural beauty.

Roxas looks to the sunlight filtering through the canopy, how the trees sway in the wind with their long, bony arms around each other. Roxas suppresses a shiver as he watches a Faceless emerge from the treeline. When his eyes widen, several of the men follow his gaze, only when a few ready to stand with their weapons does everyone look at the Faceless member approaching. Roxas immediately holds up a hand and orders the men to stand down.

Maleek raises his hand and waves the woman over.

"How do you tell who's who" Roxas asks.

"You soon begin to notice differences and it becomes easier." As the assassin approaches, the cloak pools at her feet like liquid darkness even in the beaming sunlight. "This is Aerith."

The Faceless assassin only nods her head. With the white cloth and wrappings covering her features, Roxas will only be able to tell who she is by her voice; that is if she ever chooses to speak. Around her waist is a belt fit to hold many weapons like Roxas', but the only things strapped to it are leather pouches varying in size. Then a single simple dagger on the side of her thigh.

"Nice to meet you." Roxas stands and extends his hand out to the assassin. "I'm Roxas."

"It's an honor to meet Twilight Town's most feared assassin." She replies. Her voice is soft and feminine. The kind that could entrance a man within mere seconds. Roxas can't tell if she's smiling or not, but already he can feel a sense of upbeat and joyous personality.

Roxas nods his head. "Will there be any others joining?"

"Only about, three more members." Maleek estimates.

Roxas is about to settle back down on his spot when he stands again. "Do you want to sit or have something to eat?" he directs to Aerith.

"Oh no, but thank you." She declines with a soft laugh, almost sounding surprised. She remains standing near Maleek and simply crosses her arms.

"So, will we be having the honor of seeing your face?" Zack asks as a smirk grows wide on his lips.

"Zack." Roxas says with a warning tone. "If we are to share a home with the Faceless, I expect you all to be on your best behavior. Or you can answer to me or to them. Either way, you're going to end up neutered."

The men exchange a laugh as Zack's cheeks grow warm. Once lunch is over, Roxas is helping Xigbar tighten the ropes for the cart when he feels a long-fingered hand grip his shoulder. Roxas turns to find Axel.

"Hey, can we talk?" he asks, his eyes gentle.

While something tugs at Roxas' heart with something like a bad feeling, he actually gives a smile and follows Axel as he escorts him to the tree line.

They go twenty feet in, with the foliage and leaves enveloping them whole. The 100 Acre Woods has been somewhat of an anomaly for scientists around the world as it still retains its leaves and flowers even in the winter months. Even with the limited snow it receives, let alone seasonal rain showers, all of its plant life remains hydrated and healthy.

Roxas runs the tips of his fingers over a bush of oleander flowers and smiles. He feels Axel lace their fingers together and looks to find him still gazing ahead. Finally they stop under the veil of a weeping willow.

As Axel guides Roxas to stand in front of him, he brings forward a single blue rose. Roxas smiles as Axel hands it to him.

"What's this for?" Roxas asks as he gives the flower a delicate sniff.

"It's part of my apology."

"For what?"

Axel sighs. "I . . . I shouldn't have yelled at you. It was wrong of me. I had always seen you as this strong and independent young man, that it almost made me forget that you're still human."

Roxas folds his bottom lip in and bites the inside. He looks down and extends the fingers of his left hand out enough so that they can both see the gold band that holds his ring finger. He hears Axel give a breathy laugh.

"You know I haven't taken it off since you've given it to me." Roxas decides to mention. Excluding the fact that he barely notices it as well since he doesn't normally wear rings.

"Hmm, well that's certainly flattering." Axel smiles. "I assumed it would be gone by now."

"I wouldn't throw it away because of one fight."

"No, I just thought you would've lost it."

Roxas smacks Axel's arm as he laughs, but he quickly clears his throat as he feels that he's merely beading around the bush.

"But listen, you really have nothing to be sorry for. I did freeze up, and it was . . . stupid of me. But as promised, it won't happen again." Roxas admits.

"Do you really know why it is you froze?" Axel asks.

Roxas' eyes momentarily go out of focus as they drift off over Axel's shoulder. "Because I didn't know what to feel. I didn't know whether to feel scared or happy at the first sight of the Faceless. My emotions couldn't keep up with me."

There's silence for a few seconds before Axel's foot crunches a few leaves in his one step closer to Roxas. Unable to fight the smile, Roxas lifts his head and manages to catch a glimpse of Axel's emerald green eyes before his lips push against Roxas'.

The kiss felt so good. So incredibly, impossibly good. To feel his lips again is to feel brand new, but brings back favored old memories. It feels like it's been forever since they've last kissed, and the feeling is similar to withdrawing from a drug. Just when you think you don't need it, one single dose has you addicted once more. And Axel is simply, intoxicating.

It is like coming home or being born or suddenly finding an entire half of himself that had been missing.

Axel's lips are hot and soft against Roxas' – still tentative, and after a moment he pulls back far enough to look into the blonde's eyes. Roxas trembles with the need to touch Axel everywhere at once, to feel Axel touching _him_ everywhere at once.

Roxas gasps as he feels Axel's hands cup both cheeks of his tender rear. Their kiss doesn't break as Axel hoists Roxas up and presses him against the tree trunk to sustain his weight. Roxas' legs naturally coil around Axel's waist and as Roxas wraps his arms around Axel's neck, Axel grunts and nibbles on the skin on the front of Roxas' neck.

Directing his lips back to his own, Roxas entangles his fingers in Axel's hair and pulls him closer, not wanting even the tiniest of space to be allowed between them. He can feel Axel's hands hold his thighs effortlessly. With layers of clothing constantly covering his body, Roxas could never really tell just how strong Axel was. But gods . . . oh gods was he strong. How Roxas wanted to just rip every single piece of clothing off of the red-head to see for himself.

But the caravan is ready, and they need to be somewhere secure before such events can take place.

When they pull away, Roxas wriggles his way down to the despite Axel's silent protesting. Still Roxas keeps his hands around Axel's neck and places another kiss on his lips.

Axel growls. "Why do you torture me?"

He's so seductive. It's unfair.

"Just so that you know what you're losing if we ever get into a fight." Roxas smiles.

"Well that's just not fair." Axel playfully pouts.

Roxas bites his bottom lip as he smiles. "Since when do assassin's play fair?"


	15. Chapter 14

It was a painful ride, and Roxas' nose also stuffed a blow as the continual stench of horse sweat and excrement floats to the back of the entourage.

They travel for the remainder of the day, and the assassin sits in silence as he watches the forest pass, the tightness in his chest not easing until they leave that shimmering glen far behind. His body aches by the time they stopped for the night. Roxas didn't bother to speak at dinner, nor to care when his small tent was erected, the Faceless assassin Aerith posted outside, and Roxas crawls into his tent and falls asleep.

He doesn't dream, but when he awakes, he couldn't believe his eyes.

Small white flowers lay at the foot of his cot, and footprints lead in and out of the tent. Roxas sweeps a foot over the tracks, destroying any trace, and stuffs the flowers into his satchel. He smiles at the thought of Axel leaving him flowers, but what leaves him bewildered is that the footprint seemed smaller than Axel's . . . though no one mentions a word to Roxas, as they travel onward, Roxas continually scanning the faces of his caravan for any indication that they'd been the one. He spends a good portion of the following day with sweaty palms and a racing heartbeat, and keeps one eye fixed on the passing woods.

For the next two weeks, they travel down through the continent, the nights becoming colder, the days shorter. Icy rain keeps them company for four days, during the time Roxas is so miserably cold that he contemplates whether the journey will be worth it.

Everything is wet and half-frozen and while he can bear sodden hair, Roxas cannot withstand the agony of wet shoes. He has little sensation in his toes. Each night, he wraps them in whatever spare, dry clothing he can find. Roxas feels as though he is in a state of partial decay, and with each gust of frigid, stinging wind, he wonders when his skin will rip from his bones. But, as it was autumn weather, the rain suddenly disappears, and cloudless, brilliant skies once more stretches over them.

Maleek is in the lead, level with Vanitas, the two exchanging decent enough conversation, perhaps a laugh or two. Axel rids only two paces ahead of Roxas, the rest of the men walking or riding the back of the carts.

Roxas is half-asleep on his horse when Vanitas pulls out of line and comes trotting towards them, his dark hair bouncing. The collar of his black jacket flops left and right, exposing his tunic that has a deep neckline exposing part of his chest. He pulls alongside Roxas. "Roxas, you've got to see this." He says, and jerks his head at the steep, grassy hill that the company is starting to ascend.

"What?" Roxas asks.

"Come see the view." Vanitas clarifies with an excited smile.

Roxas grasps the reins as he advances into a gallop, the tangy smell of horsehair creeping into his nostrils. They ride quickly up the steep hill, the horse jerking and surging beneath him. Roxas tries not to wince as he slides backwards in the saddle. If he falls, he will die of humiliation. But the setting sun emerges from the trees behind them, and his breath catches in his throat as a spire, the three, then six more appear, piercing the sky.

Atop the hill, Roxas stares at the crowning achievement of Traverse Town. The glass castle.

"You . . . live in there?" Axel breathes in astonishment.

It is gargantuan, a vertical city of shimmering, crystalline towers and bridges, chambers and turrets, domed ballrooms and long, endless hallways. It has been built above the original stone castle, and costs a kingdom's wealth to construct.

Roxas thinks of the first time he's seen it, eight years ago, cold and still, frozen like the earth beneath his fat pony. Even then, he found the castle tasteless, a waste of resources and talent, its towers reaching into the sky like clawed fingers. He remembers the powder-blue cloak that he kept touching, the weight of his weapons, the scratch of his pants against the saddle, how he'd worried about the spot of mud on his ebony black boots, and how he kept on thinking about that man – that man he'd killed three days earlier.

"One more tower and the will thing will collapse." Vanitas says from his spot on the other side of Maleek. The sounds of the approaching party fills the air.

"You're saying that you live in the castle?" Demyx says in awe.

Roxas couldn't take his eyes from the castle. He feels so small, even from far away. He had forgotten how dwarfing the building is. The illuminated castle rises from the sleeping city like a mound of ice and steam. There is something greenish about it, and it seems to pulse.

Leon calls to the men to ready the camp, and immediately Aerith and the men are scurrying about, lighting fires and raising tents. "You look as if you're facing the gallows, not your freedom." Maleek says beside Roxas.

Roxas winds and unwinds a strap of leather rein around a finger. "It's odd to see it."

"The city?"

"The city, the castle, the slums, the river." The shadows of the castle grow across the city like a hulking beast. He scans the twisting city streets and the winding glimmer of the river.

By this time tomorrow, he will be inside those walls. But tonight – tonight it is so quiet, like the calm before a storm.

Roxas imagines that the whole world is asleep, enchanted by the sea-green light of the castle. Time came and went, mountains rising and falling, vines creeping over the slumbering city, concealing it with layers of thorns and leaves. He is the only one awake.

He pulls his cloak around him. With night descending upon the campsite, the men all gather around the fire for supper; a rather real supper consisting of bread with butter, bowls of various soups sprinkled with cheese and a bowl of mixed vegetables. Once done, most of the men retired to their tents, Maleek and Aerith stand guard at the borderline of the camp. Roxas takes the opportunity to sit towards the top of the hill and gaze down at the gleaming castle.

With his knees to his chest, Roxas gazes down at the castle. What he expected to feel upon their arrival – relief and relaxation, have not come, and it troubles him as to why. The Faceless are now for argument's sake, the most powerful assassin's guild in the continent. Their influence has flourished over the span of a few months and has already won the allegiance of several kingdoms, or at least their citizens. With that, Roxas can't help but compare himself to how they've have grown and he has rather shrunk.

His father's guilds are in shambles and are pitted against one another now that Roxas has stated his detachment from them all, and even with that Cloud is still after him to try and talk or beat some sense into Roxas. A part of Roxas, possessed with a rather dark humor, can only imagine the guilds at having Seifer take over their empire instead of Roxas. That's just a natural disaster waiting to happen.

Roxas was the best, but people still whisper when they mention his name. Something inside him feels pleased to know that he still holds that kind of grip on people. Admittedly, he loves that feeling of intimidation he gives to others, just so that they know that picking a fight with him will be over quickly. He still wants that fear, but directed at someone deserving. He wants to walk among the citizens and have them greet him with smiles, not their coin purses ready. Could he ever retain that ever again? What would everyone think to learn that the most feared and ruthless assassin has now been reduced to a city watchman? It's pathetic.

What is it that he wants? Or more rather why can't he find a happy medium where he can kill people, but retain respect and adore as an honored man? He's never become a guard. He always found such a position rather dull; standing at corners and gates simply holding a weapon that wouldn't even be useful in battle, so dull.

The Faceless is so far his only medium. It's all he has until his father finally decides to give up on his search. Maybe then Roxas can escape with Axel and vanish into nothing, and think no more of castles or kings or assassins. He doesn't with to reign over a city again.

He isn't fated for anything for anything. Not anymore.

A hand upon his dagger, Maleek watches the blond assassin from his spot on the other side of the campground. There was something sad about Roxas – sitting so still with his legs against his chest, the moonlight coloring his hair silver. No bold, swaggering expressions strut across his face as the glow of the castle ripples in his eyes.

Maleek found him beautiful, if a bit strange and sour. It is something in the way that his eyes sparkle when he looks at something lovely in the landscape. Maleek couldn't understand it.

Roxas stares at the castle unflinchingly, his form silhouetted against the blazing brightness that sits on the edge of the 100 Acre River. Clouds gather above them as Roxas raises his head. Through a clearing in the swirling mass, a cluster of stars can be seen. Maleek couldn't help thinking that they gazed down at Roxas.

The boy truly is a remarkable creature. An assassin with the blessings of a pretty face and sharp wits. He washes his hands with blood, and is just as likely to slit anyone's throat as offer them a kind word.

As Maleek leans against a thick tree, his hand still upon his dagger, he allows himself to shut his eyes.

Still, the image haunts his dreams throughout the night: a lovely boy gazing at the stars, and the stars who gazed back.

In the following morning, trumpets signal their arrival as they pass through the looming alabaster walls of Traverse Town. The city is divided into five districts with three being the most populated along with several minor locations such as alleyways, caves and a post office. Crimson flags depicting gold fleur-de-lis flap in the wind above the capital city, the cobblestone streets were cleared of traffic, and Roxas, dressed and seated in front of Maleek, frowns as the odor of the city meets his nose.

Beneath the smell of spies and horses lies a foundation of filth, blood, and spoiled milk. The air holds a hint of the salty waters of the canal – different from the salt of Twilight Town. This brought with it war ships from Hollow Bastion, merchant vessels crammed with goods and slaves, and fishing boats with half-rotted, scale-covered flesh that people somehow manage to eat. From barded peddlers to servant girls carrying armfuls of hatboxes, everyone pauses as the flag-bearers trot proudly ahead, and Maleek waves.

They follow Maleek, who, like Aerith, is swathed in a purple cape, pinned over the left breast with an ominous looking brooch fashioned after their insignia. Maleek has his hood cast over his head.

Women flock to them, waving. Maleek winks and grins. Roxas can't help but notice the surprised but sultry stares from the same women when the behold Roxas in Maleek's retinue. He knows how he appears, seated atop a horse like some prize gentleman being brought to the castle. Too astound by the city to care, Roxas continues to look around at all of the staggering buildings and pleasantly colored shops.

"I see you're not too big on covertness." Roxas comments.

"We think it's healthy to let the people know who it is they appreciate." Maleek answers.

Roxas feels his arm pinched and looks to find Vanitas next to him. "What?" Roxas asks.

"He looks ridiculous." Vanitas says, ignoring the crowd.

"_They're_ ridiculous."

They enter the shopping district, where the crowd swells between the trees lining the broad avenues of white stone. The glass storefronts are nearly invisible beyond the crowd, but a ravenous sort of hunger arises inside of Roxas as they pass shop after shop. Each window displays dresses and tunics, which stand proudly behind lines of sparkling jewelry and broad-rimmed hats clumped together like bouquets of flowers. Above it all, the glass castle looms, so high Roxas has to tilt his head back to see the uppermost towers. Why did they choose such a long and inconvenient route? Did they really wish to parade around?

People still wave and bow, cheering and laughing, throwing flowers and other nonsense before their horses.

There is a break in the buildings, and sails spread like moth's wings greet them as they turn onto the avenue along the Second District. Roxas has difficulty breathing.

Ships sit docked along the pier, a mess of rope and netting with sailors calling to each other, too busy to notice the practical royal processions. Roxas looks back to Axel, who is already lost in a trance of envy and grief. He stares at the men and Roxas can see the memories of his prior years flash through his eyes. Days set on the sea, singing and prepping the ship. Playing cards with in the pub while enjoying the sound of the music sung by the men, not even caring if it's out of tune. Memories that Axel cherishes, and of which were ripped from him the day he had taken aboard a young blonde assassin on his ship. Memories Roxas stole from him, and can never bring back.

Roxas wants to leap from his horse and run to them, to the ship and ask if he can buy the most expensive ship they have and give it to Axel to make it his own. But even that won't be enough. Axel doesn't care for anything expensive if there's no sentimental value. All his knick-knacks that he had collected over the years, Roxas can never replace. Even with the possibility, Roxas can't yet. But once everything is settled, he promises to himself he will find a way to repay Axel's lost memories.

At the sound of a whip, Roxas head snaps to the side. Slaves stagger down the gangplank of a merchant ship. A mix of conquered nations bound together, each of them have the hollow, raging face he's seen so many times before. Most of the slaves are prisoners of war – rebels who survived the butchering block and endless lines of Hollow Bastion's armies. Some are probably ordinary people, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now that he noticed, there are countless chained slaves working the docks, lifting and sweating, holding parasols and pouring water, eyes on the ground or the sky – never on what is before them.

Roxas has difficulty breathing. Sooner than he would've liked, the iron and glass gates of the castle appear, latticework doors open, and a dozen other Faceless flank the cobblestone path that leads through the archway. Weapons erect, they hold rectangular shields, and their faces placid beneath their white wrappings. Each wears a grey or purple cloak. They don't seem to be wearing any form of armor under their purple wrappings. Roxas can't decide if it's because they're just that good at not getting caught, or they're just plain stupid.

Beyond the archway slopes a road, lined with trees of gold and silver. Glass lampposts sprout up between the hedges bordering the path. The sounds of the city vanish as they pass under another arch, this one made of sparkling glass, and then the castle rises before them.

Maleek sighs as he dismounts in the open courtyard. Roxas follows his movements and sets on his wobbly legs. Glass gleams everywhere, and a hand clamps on his shoulder. Stableboys quietly and quickly lead his horse away along with their wheelbarrows and carts of supplies and food. Axel pulls Roxas to his side, keeping a hand on Roxas' shoulder as the rebel party approaches.

"Six hundred rooms, member and servant's quarters, three gardens, a game park, and stables on either side." says Maleek, staring at his home. "Who could ever need so much space?"

Roxas manages to smile, a bit baffled by Maleek's sudden charm. "I don't know how you can sleep at night with only a wall of glass keeping you from death." Roxas glances up, but quickly lowers his focus to the ground. He wasn't afraid of heights, but the thought of being so up with nothing but glass to protect him makes his stomach clench.

"Then you're like me." Maleek chuckles. "Thank the gods I managed to give you a room in the stone castle. I'd hate for you to be uncomfortable."

Deciding scowling at him wouldn't be the wisest decision, Roxas looks instead towards the massive castle gates. The doors are made of cloudy red glass, gaping at the rebels like the mouth of a giant. But they can see the interior is made of stone, and it seems to Roxas that the glass castle has been dropped on top of the original building. What a ridiculous idea: a castle made of glass.

"Well, welcome to our home, Roxas Skyes." Maleek nods at a few passing members. He takes the lead into the castle.

Roxas feels a hand grip his arm and looks to find Aerith. She yanks Roxas aside as another cloaked Faceless follows out. With her cloak brushing the floor, she mimics gliding across the floor; her footsteps soundless. She is taller than Roxas by two inches, and is fully clad in her black and purple wrappings, her face a mask of white cloth. Shadows seem to curl off her firm body and fade away like smoke. Her head turns towards Roxas, and despite the cloth, Roxas shifts uncontrollably as he sees dots of red looking at him. After a moment of awkward silence, the Faceless looks away and continues on.

"Who's the broad?" Roxas asks.

Aerith giggles a little. "That's Paine. She's the third in command. Though I don't think there's an official title for that."

"Who's the second?"

"Maleek. Being the only man accepted, and with his 'rescue mission.'" Aerith air quotes.

"Why the air quotes? You don't believe him?"

"No I do, in fact, Rikku was one of the woman in the brothel."

"Really?!" Roxas exclaims.

"Yep. She was second in command until Maleek showed up, and she actually approached Tifa and said that he deserves it more than her."

"And Tifa was fine with it?"

Aerith nods and escorts Roxas and his crew through the gates. "Maleek will show you to your room, Roxas. And I'll escort the rest."

"Why does Roxas get special treatment?" Demyx pouts as he folds his arms.

"Because he is the former son of a master assassin, as well as your leader." Maleek grins as he approaches. Axel with his hand now on the small of Roxas' back, presses his palm more into Roxas' back. Roxas looks up to find him nearly glaring at Maleek.

Roxas rolls his shoulders and looks back at his party and gives them a nod of approval.

Maleek smiles and nods to another flock of cooing courtiers, and didn't look at Axel or Vanitas as he speaks again. "I'll arrange for you all, or at least some main members of your party, to meet with Tifa." He says, running his gaze along Roxas' body.

Roxas rolls his eyes. Maleek's eyes shine with amusement at Roxas' brashness but lingers a bit too long on his body. Axel wanted to rake his nails down Maleek's face for staring at Roxas like that. To Axel's surprise, Roxas takes a step forward but turns and stands on his toes to kiss Axel on the cheek, his one hand placing over Axel's chest; his heartbeat warm and steady beneath his palm. Axel instantly turns his head and pecks Roxas' lips before Roxas goes by Maleek and follows him.

"Well then, we'll see you later." Maleek turns back and winks at Axel with a grin before they strode up to the palace, Maleek's purple cape blowing in the wind.

Maleek certainly lived up to his word. Roxas' chambers are in a wing of the stone castle, and much bigger than he anticipated. They consists of a bedroom with an attached bathing chamber and a dressing room, a small dining room, and a music and gaming room. Each room is furnished in gold and crimson, his bedroom also decorated with a giant tapestry along one wall, with couches and deep-cushioned chairs scattered in a tasteful manner. His balcony overlooks a fountain in one of the gardens, and whichever it was, it was beautiful – never mind the Faceless he spotted running through the garden beneath.

Maleek has left him, and Roxas didn't wait to hear the door shut before closing himself in his bedroom. Between murmurs of appreciation during Maleek's brief tour of his rooms, Roxas counted the windows – twelve – the exits – one – and the armor of knights posted outside his door, windows, and balcony – nine. Each are armed with a sword, knife, and crossbow, and though they are fake, perhaps they there in case their headquarters is attacked and they need extra weapons. Roxas himself having used weapons of an armor's display.

Roxas creeps to his bedroom window, pressing himself against the marble wall, and glances down. Sure enough, the display knights have their crossbows strapped to their backs. It would waste precious seconds to grab the weapon and load it – seconds when he can take their swords, cut their throats, and vanish into the gardens. Roxas smiles as he steps fully in front of the window to study the garden. Its far border ended in the trees of a game park. He knows enough about the castle to know that he is on the southern side, and if he goes through the game park, he'd reach a stone wall and the 100 Acre Woods beyond.

Roxas opens and closes the doors of his armoire, dresser, and vanity. Of course, there are plenty of items that can be used as weapons, even the fire poker. With his guard still rather high, Roxas decides to craft a makeshift weapon in case they take his others away. Grabbing a few bon hairpins left in the back of a dresser drawer, and some string he found in a mending basket in his giant dressing room. No needles. Roxas kneels on the carpet floor of the dressing room – which is full of colors – and, one eye on the door behind him, makes quick work of the hairpins, snapping their heads off before binding them all together with the string. When he's finished he holds up the object and frowns.

Well, it's not like his knife, but clustered together like that, the jagged point of the broken pins can do some damage. He tests the tips with a finger, and winces as a shard of bone pricks his callous skin. Yes, it would certainly hurt if he jams it into an enemy's neck. And disable him long enough for him to grab his weapons.

Roxas reenters the bedroom, yawning, and stands on the edge of the mattress to tuck the makeshift weapon into one of the folds of the partial canopy over the bed. When he conceals it, he glances around the room again. Something about the dimensions seems a little off – something with the height of the walls, but he can't be sure. Regardless, the canopy provides plenty of hiding places. What else can he take without them noticing? He listens at the bedroom door for any signs of activity. When he is certain no one is in his chambers, he enters the foyer and strode through the gaming room. He beholds the billiards cues along the far wall, and the heavy colored balls stacked on the green felt table, and grins.

Ultimately, he leaves the billiards equipment, if only because it will arouse suspicion if it all disappears, but it will be easy enough to get a stick if he needs to escape, or to use the dense balls to knock the Faceless unconscious. Exhausted, Roxas returns to his bedroom and finally hoists himself onto the enormous bed. The mattress is so soft that he sinks down a few inches, and it is wide enough for three people to sleep without noticing each other. Curling on his side, Roxas' eyes grow heavier and heavier.

He sleeps for an hour, until he feels someone tap his shoulder. Roxas flutters his eyes open and sits up to find another young woman, about his age standing at over him with an armful of clothes.

"Well, looks like you're getting your strength back." She says smiling.

This one member actually has her face exposed. She has blue eyes and a toned body structure, with rosy cheeks and pale, pink lips. Her blonde hair reaches her collarbone and is draped over her right shoulder. She wears the wrappings of the Faceless with a dark purple cloak about her shoulders. Judging from the bulges in her legs, she has powerful legs.

Roxas watches as she sets the pile of clothes into the drawer of his dresser. She then closes the drawer, leaving out a simple bath robe for Roxas. She walks over and hands them to him. Roxas takes them and sets it aside.

"Oh, I'm Namine, by the way."

She extends out a hand, and Roxas debates on whether to shake it. The girl gives a gentle smile and despite accepting her handshake, Roxas gives her a questionable look.

"You seem rather, innocent to be in the business of assassins. What are you here for? Stealing a piece of candy? Killing a puppy?" Roxas asks, his tone sounding sharper than he intended.

Namine instantly retracts her hand and her lip contorts into a sneer. "No, I was dragged here after I watched my mother die right in front of me." She snaps back.

Roxas' eyes widen, his mouth slightly open. "I apologize. I didn't mean-"

"It's fine." Namine interjects. "We all have a story."

"What's yours? If I may ask." Roxas asks as he takes the shirt. He gives Namine a raised eyebrow, but she only rolls her eyes and giggles.

"I can handle your nakedness. I've seen worse." She says.

Roxas sighs, but is contempt as he strips off his shirt. He's aware of Namine's eyes leering all over his torso. Namine folds her lips in, biting the bottom one as she takes in the image of Twilight Town's – of the worlds – most feared shadow assassin.

At a passing glance, one might think his eyes are blue or grey, perhaps eve green, depending on the color of his clothing. Up close, though, these warring hues are offset by the brilliant ring of gold around his pupils. But it's his golden hair that catches the attention of most, hair that still maintains a glimmer of its glory. His chest having a glorious flame tattoo encased in a heart, directly over the spot where the organ lies. In short, Roxas Skyes is blessed with a handful of attractive features that compensate for the majority of average ones.

"You still haven't answered my question." Roxas comments as he steps out of his boots.

Namine clears her throat and tucks a strand of hair behind her head. "My great-grandmother and grandmother were members of the Faceless. My mother was the next in line, but she didn't want any part of the life." Namine shifts her gaze down and traces into the carpet with her toes. "One evening, while my father was out hunting, they came."

Roxas feels her throat swell. He pulls down his pants and tugs them off, sprawling them on the bed.

"They barged through the door and cut my mother down right in front of me. I was only eight years old. After that, they carried me off and I've been here ever since."

"How old are you now?" Roxas asks.

"Fifteen."

"I'm so sorry, Namine." Roxas mumbles. "And it was just like that? You never tried to escape?"

"I don't have a death wish." Namine says, then shrugs. "I mean, I can never forgive them for what they did, but at the same time this is my family's history. Even if my mother was never a part of it."

"How many members are there?" Roxas asks. He pulls on the robe and ties off the string around his waist.

"Right now Madam Tifa is still recruiting. So we only have about, five or six." Namine says wavering a hand. Roxas gives her an unconvinced look as he remembers all of the members that had greeted them outside the gates. Namine giggles. "Those are all just trainees. They all have grey cloaks, members have purple or black cloaks." She clarifies.

"Ah, so, I'm assuming there's another reason you're here than to just deliver my clothes and gawk at me while I change." Roxas says.

Namine grins and laughs. "I am actually here to dress you for dinner." She says.

"I have to look a certain way for dinner?"

"Just this once. I mean, face it, you're not exactly in your most glorious state right now. These will be temporary while we wash your others clothes, or until you get your uniform."

"I'm getting a uniform already? I thought I'd had to do some initiation training or something." Roxas says with a puzzled expression.

Namine giggles. "No, of course not. You're Roxas. The son of the Master Assassin Cloud, why would you think you need to prove yourself when the world still quakes at the mention of you name?"

"I have been disowned by my father. I did some things he didn't approve of, and when I refused to yield, he decided force would be more convincing." Roxas says. "I had to flee my city, and now he's branded me as a juvenal maniac, and I have a bounty on my head the size of a king's ransom."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I mean, I had assumed living with him wasn't easy, but I never imagined it would be cruel enough for you to turn you back on tradition. But then again, perhaps I should have."

"I am finished discussing this matter." Roxas coldly says.

"Very well." Namine softly speaks. "Shall we get started?"

Namine calls for a tailor to outfit Roxas with "proper court attire." And thus the next hour is spent being measured and pinned, and sitting through a presentation of different fabrics and colors. Roxas hates most of them. A few catch his attention, but when he tries to recommend specific styles that flatters him, he receives only the wave of a hand and a curl of a lip. Roxas considers jabbing one of the tailor's pearl-headed pins through his eye.

Roxas is bathed, feeling almost as dirty as he had in Agrabah, and is grateful for the gentle servants who attend him. Many of his wounds have scabbed or remained as thin as white lines, though his back retains most of its damage. After nearly two hours of pampering – trimming his hair, shaping his nails, and scraping away the callousness on his feet and hands – Roxas actually grins at the mirror in the dressing room.

Only in the capital could servants have done such fine work. He looks spectacular. Utterly and completely spectacular. He wears a shirt, streaked and spotted with periwinkle purple, his pants still white. The indigo jacket is bordered with a thin line of gold, and an ice-white cape hangs from his shoulders.

"Handsome." Namine says, and Roxas pivots, the yards of cumbersome fabric twisting with him. "Or well, even more handsome.

Roxas decides to like Namine for now and nods. He gives a weak smile as she gestures out of the bedroom.

* * *

Roxas walks down the marble hall, his cape flowing behind in a purple and white wave. Maleek strode besides him, a hand on the viper-shaped pommel of his dagger.

"Is there anything interesting down this hall?"

"What else would you care to see?" Maleek asks. "You've already seen all three gardens, the ballrooms, the historical rooms, and the nicest views offered from the stone castle. If you refuse to go into the glass castle, there's nothing else to see."

Roxas crosses his arms. He'd managed to convince Namine to give him a tour under the pretense of extreme boredom – when, in fact, he'd use every moment to plot a dozen escape routes from his room. Unfortunately, Namine was son called to duty and instead, was replaced with Maleek. Roxas tried to ignore the grin he gave when he saw Roxas in his new clothes. The castle is old, and most of its halls and stairwells go nowhere; escaping would require some thought. But what better way to prepare for potential disaster?

"I don't understand why you refuse to enter the glass addition." Maleek goes on. "There's no difference between the interiors – you wouldn't even know that you are inside it unless someone told you or you looked out the window."

"Only an idiot would walk in a house made of glass."

"It's as sturdy as steel and stone."

"Yes, until someone just a bit too heavy enters and it comes crashing down."

"That's impossible."

The thought of standing on floors of glass makes Roxas queasy. "I there no menagerie or library that we can see?" they pass by a set of closed doors. The sounds of lilting speech reaching them, along with the gentle strumming of a harp. "What's in there?"

"Madam Tifa's court." Maleek grabs his arm and pulls Roxas down the hall.

"Madame Tifa?" Didn't he have any idea what information he is giving away? Perhaps she honestly thought he wasn't a threat. Roxas hides his scowl.

"Yes, our Mistress of the Night."

"She sure has many titles."

"As she so deserves."

There are silent for a few minutes before an explosion sounds nearby, then another.

"What is that awful noise?" Roxas says. Maleek leads him through a set of glass doors, and he points up as they enter into a garden.

"The clock tower." Maleek says, his cobalt eyes shining with amusement, as the clock finishes its war cry. "Don't you have one back in Twilight Town?"

"Yes, but I've never heard bells like that." Roxas answers.

From the garden sprouts a tower made of inky black stone. Two gargoyles, wings spread for flight perch on each of the four clock faces, soundlessly roaring at those beneath. "What a horrible thing." he whispers. The numbers are like war paint on the white face of the clock, the hands like swords as they slash across the pearly surface.

"As a child wouldn't go near it. I thought you'd only see something like this in Twilight Town – not in a garden. How old is it?" Roxas asks.

"Our Lady had it built around the birth of her child."

"Her child? Why would she build such a wretched thing?" Roxas asks.

"Come on." Maleek says, turning as he ignores his question. "Let's go."

Roxas examines the clock tower for a second more. The thick, clawed finger of a gargoyle points at him. He could have sworn that its jaw had widened. As he makes to follow Maleek, he notices a tile on the paved pathway. "What's this?"

Maleek stops. "What's what?"

Roxas points at the mark engraved on the slate. It is a circle with a vertical line through the middle that extends beyond the circumference. Both ends of the line are hooked, one direction downward, the other up. "What is this mark on the path here?"

Maleek walks around until she stands beside him. "I have no idea."

Roxas examines the gargoyle again. "He's pointing at it. What does the symbol mean?"

"It means you're wasting my time." Maleek says. "It's probably some decorative sundial."

"Are there other marks?"

"If you look, I'm sure you'd find them." Roxas allows himself to be dragged away from the garden, away from the shadow of the clock tower and into the marble halls of the castle. Try as he might, and walk as far as they did, he couldn't shake the feeling that those bulging eyes are still upon him.

They continue past the kitchen quarters, which are a mess of shouting, clouds of flour, and surging fires. One beyond, they enter a long hallway, empty and silent save for their footsteps. Roxas suddenly halts. "What," He breathes. "is _that_?" he points at the twenty-foot oak doors, his eyes widening at the dragons that grow out of either side of the stone wall. Four-legged dragons – not vicious, bipedal wyverns.

"The library." The two words are like a shot of lightning.

"The . . ." Roxas looks at the claw-shaped iron handles. "Can we go in?"

Maleek opens the door reluctantly, the strong muscles of his back shifting as he pushes hard against the worn oak. compared to the sunlit hallway, the interior that stretches beyond them seems formidably dark, but as he steps inside, candelabras come into view, along with black-and-white marble floors, large mahogany tables with red velvet chairs, a slumbering fire, mezzanines, bridges, ladders, railings, and then books – books and books and books.

Roxas has entered a city made entirely of leather and paper. Roxas puts a hand against his heart. Escape routes be damned. "I've never seen – how many volumes are there?"

Maleek shrugs. "Last anyone bothered to count, it was a million. But that was two hundred years ago. I'd say maybe more than that, especially given the legends that a second library lies deep beneath, in catacombs and tunnels."

"Over a million? A million books?" Roxas' heart leaps and dances, and he cracks a smile. "I'd die before I even got through half of that!"

"You like to read?"

Roxas raises an eyebrow. "Don't you?" not waiting for an answer, he moves farther into the library, the train of his cape sweeping across the floor. He nears a shelf and looks at the titles. He recognizes none of them.

Grinning, he whirls and moves through the main floor, running a hand across the dusty books. "I didn't know assassins like to read." Maleek calls. If Roxas was to die now it would be in complete bliss. "You said you were from Twilight Town; did you ever visit the Great Library of Sunset Hill? They say it's twice the size of this – and that it used to hold all the knowledge of the world."

Roxas turns from the stack he was currently studying. "Yes." He admits. "When I was very young. Though they wouldn't let me explore – the Master Scholars were too afraid I'd ruin some valuable manuscript." Roxas hasn't returned to the Great Library since – and wonders how many of those invaluable works have been put away from the expansion of the shelves. Though part of him savors the hope that those Master Scholars had smuggled many of the priceless book to their homes for safekeeping – that when the royal family had been slaughtered and the outsiders invaded, those stuffy old men had had the good sense to stat hiding two thousand years' worth of ideas and learning.

A dead, empty space opens inside Roxas. Needing to change the subject, she asks. "Why are none of your folk here?"

"Guards are of no use in a library." Oh, how wrong he was! Libraries are full of ideas – perhaps the most dangerous and powerful of all weapons.

Roxas says, "I was referring to you Faceless companions."

Maleek leans against a table, a hand still on his sword. At least one of them remembers they are alone together in the library. "Reading is a bit out of fashion, I'm afraid."

"Yes, well – more for me to read, then."

"Read? These belong the Mistress."

"It's a library, isn't it?"

"It's the Madam's property, and you aren't of noble blood. You need permission from either her or her top three advisors."

"Well you're one of them, can't you grant me this? I highly doubt any of you would notice the loss of a few books." Roxas asks, mentally cursing himself for how much his tone sounds as if he's pleading.

"I would, but I have a few prerequisites, that you could possibly help with." Maleek grins as his eyes once again trace up and down Roxas' body.

Roxas snarls. "I'm serious, Maleek."

"So am I." He licks his lips.

"What about her child? Does she, or he hold the title of advisor?"

Maleek sighs. "It's late. I'm hungry."

"So?" Roxas says.

Maleek growls and practically drags Roxas from the library.


	16. Chapter 15

As he walks through the estate, marveling at various paintings of the faraway lands of The Timeless River, The Land of Dragons and the Deep Jungle, Roxas can't help but wonder if the Faceless have ever journeyed to such places.

The hall of paintings ends at two large doors.

The doors groan open to reveal the dining room. A glass chandelier shaped like a grapevine occupies most of the ceiling, spitting seeds of diamond shaped fire onto the windows along the far side of the wall.

Walking into the dining hall, the room was lit by hundreds of tiny black votive candles, and stands of black glass beads hung from the chandelier. The chamber is blue and has crystal snowflakes hanging suspended from the vaulted ceiling, wavering ever so slightly. Embroidered pillows and carpets lined the floor, while thick clouds of sweet smoke hazed the air. Lethargic courtiers sat, stooped, and stood around hookah pipes and bowls of smoking incense. A heavy perfume pervaded the space, making Roxas dizzy. The smell of wine mingles with the scent of the rich food.

All members of Roxas' party are accounted for, all groomed and primped and preened to look as fresh as nobles. Maleek guides Roxas towards the large mahogany table that stretches all across the floor. Roxas notices only one member of the Faceless already sitting there. She lifts her head, her face covered as expected, then at instant glance, she gets up from the table and quickly walks out of the room through a double set of doors on the opposite side of the room.

Roxas tilts his head in curiosity. "Who was that?"

"Another member." Maleek vaguely answers.

"I know that, asshole! I meant who it _was_. The girl behind the cloth." Roxas snaps.

Just as he's about to answer, the doors open again and in steps Axel. Roxas heart flutters.

He looks excessively handsome. He wears an unadorned white shirt under a fine cobalt-blue jacket trimmed with gold. He still kept his knee-high brown boots and they even managed to make his weapon's belt more polished.

Roxas immediately forgets Maleek and trots over to Axel who scours the hall until his eyes land on Roxas. He immediately smiles. Wrapping his arms around Axel's neck he smiles as he asks, "So . . . how do you like it?"

Axel sighs. "Honestly, it's not so bad."

Roxas can sense the hesitation in Axel's voice, which is understandable given that everywhere they go, and so far anyone they've met have tried to kill them. But Roxas can only hope that this'll be a new start. Still, he is being cautious himself; perhaps it's for the best.

Maleek motions Roxas to one of the carved, straight-backed chairs with velvet cushions. It's made for someone taller than Roxas, so his toes rest on the ground. Huge black candles flickered in the center of the table. Roxas' eyes widen at the expanded buffet style food that's spread in front of him.

The table itself seems to be built for members all living in the castle, and Roxas remembers Namine mentioning how they only have six members for now. Roxas is tempted to ask Maleek if other members are going to join them, but is torn between receiving a snippy answer, and just waiting. Rather than start a food fight with Maleek, Roxas waits and soon, ironically enough, faces appear.

One of them being a young woman at the age of seventeen with medium-length blonde hair that's braided, tied atop her head, adorned with colorful beads, and held by a blue bandana. Her emerald green eyes sparkle, her body is tall and lush . . . sexy by anyone's means. She wears a yellow g-string bikini and an olive green mini-skirt, carrying two pouches at her waist and ruffle sleeves. A long yellow and red scarf hangs loosely around her neck. She wields two red dagger-like blades designed for rapid attacks. She makes her way around the table taking a seat across from Maleek. Roxas makes notice of her eyes, outlined in charcoal to make it look like a cat's.

She looks up and catches Roxas staring. Roxas wants to look away but it's too late so he tries to crack a smile.

"It's nice to meet you, officially, Roxas Skyes." the girl speaks. Her voice is smooth and, feminine; and she gives Diamond a smile. "I'm Rikku."

Rikku extends her hand across the table and Roxas reaches across the table to give it a shake. She giggles and Roxas can't help but feel slightly embarrassed.

Looking off to his left he sees the guys of his party with wide, hungry eyes and mouths slightly agape. Roxas wants to facepalm himself, and take that butter knife and neuter them all for the inappropriate manners they're displaying. Perhaps he should've spent some time teaching them the ways of a proper society.

The doors open again and in enters another woman with hair cropped short, with a red braid stretching down to her ankles. She wears a blue-beaded earring on her right ear, woven into blue beads with gold rings around the larger, middle bead. She wears a silver pendant. Yuna has heterochromia: her left eye is blue, while the right is green. She dons a modified halter-neck top with a symbol across the chest and a pink hood. She wears yellow armbands over her biceps, a black bracelet on her left wrist, and denim boyshorts. She carries a pouch on her left hip over an ankle-length blue and white sash and wears laced knee-high boots. Wearing the polished leather holsters in combat, she wields a couple of pistols.

Rikku jerks her head and immediately smiles, bolting up from her seat and going over to Yuna to envelop her in a hug. "Yuna!" She squeals. "How was your mission?"

They giggle and chat before Yuna follows Rikku to the table. Yuna shyly gives Roxas a nod and Roxas gives a small smile in return.

Suddenly there's a whoosh of a body plummeting and Roxas braces himself. There's a heavy thud and the entire table as well as its contents rattle. Roxas looks to find a woman with crimson red eyes, a mask covering the lower half of her face like Maleek's.

"Well that certainly was an entrance." Roxas says as he stares at her without flinching.

"Nearly a twenty foot drop. How far have you ever dropped?" she grins

"Farther." Roxas says as he leans forward on his elbows. "Get on my level."

"Paine," Yuna calls. "Get off the table, I don't need your butt in my face while I eat my stew." Though unflinchingly polite, soft-spoken, and driven, she appears athletic, cosmopolitan, outspoken, and playful.

The woman named Paine, rises, her long legs wrapped in the purple and black with peeps of skin exposed in between. She smiles and drops down from the table and takes the available seat next to Yuna.

Paine has short, silver hair, and most wears a black leather ensemble complete with high-heeled boots, elbow-length gloves and a folded top. She wears a silver pendant threaded with a barbed wire chain. Strapped to her back is a sword with a skull-motif at the base of the blade that also appears on the belt buckle of her ensemble.

Roxas can't help but assess how her personality resembles somewhat cynical but looks she would be relatively quiet and keep to herself. Paine seems tough and loves a good fight, but she is sensible enough to smell trouble a mile away. In spite of her dry wit and demeanor, she seems to value her friendship with Yuna and Rikku. Her physical mannerisms are almost boyish

He looks to Maleek, who spins his fork in his bowl, rolling up pasta noodles. Aerith has since seated next to Zack, completely ignoring his flirtatious signals and gesture. Smart woman, and it gives Roxas slight entertainment to watch him fail. Roxas looks at his plate, which is loaded with food, though he knows he didn't get it himself. Still the aroma of the food is enough for him to dispatch it. Mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of grapes, rare roast beef sliced as thin as paper, noodles in a green sauce, cheese that melts on your tongue served with sweet blue grapes.

While the tables roar with conversations, some of the crew members attempting to woo and charm the Faceless women – to no avail – Roxas can't help but study each of the members that have joined them. Knowing what Namine had said, Roxas assumes all of these women are official members.

Namine isn't there, which is disappointing, but Roxas assumes she's out on some contract or mission. In a matter of minutes, Roxas has each of them figured out.

Rikku is kind-hearted, spirited, happy-go-lucky, and energetic, which sometimes clashes with the more stoic group members. She tries to maintain a positive outlook and but makes a stark contrast when she is upset, and despite her outwardly happy exterior, she carries some insecurities, particularly when it comes to her future and what she wants to be. Rikku is bilingual and skilled in chemistry and alchemy and is also very loyal to Yuna—whom she affectionately calls "Yunie."

Yuna is a kind, loyal, honest, and polite humanitarian who strives to see the best in others and has a strong conviction to complete whatever task she feels is her duty. She is, however, naive, always believing the best of people, and often places the needs of others above her own, becoming apologetic when she feels she has let someone down. She hides her feelings of fear and sadness while encouraging her friends to express themselves in her place. She is willing to carry others' burdens and sacrifice everything she has to take down her enemies, giving up chances for her own happiness if it means helping others.

Demyx seems to have already gained acceptance among the female Faceless as he speaks with them as if he's known them forever. Rikku laughs and places a hand on Demyx's shoulder as he tells her an embarrassing story. Despite the glances he gets from the other rebel members, Roxas smiles at their childish jealousy.

"You look rather handsome today, Roxas." Aerith comments as she takes a delicate bite of her salad.

"Thank you." Roxas says, feeling a bit silly wearing such soft shades of purple.

"You look more like some noble's lapdog than an assassin." Paine comments.

"Paine," Yuna hushes.

"It's fine, only means I'm capable of convincing disguises, with the proper hands at work." Roxas comments. "Just like you, Paine, you can definitely pass as a boy."

The sound of choking catches everyone's attention, and they find Xigbar coughing, but laughing as he has choked on his water. Luxord laughs at Xigbar, which passes on through the other members, erupting the table into hilarity.

"If I may ask, where is your Mistress?" Roxas asks as he dips a slice of garlic bread into some olive oil sprinkled with pepper.

"She rarely east with us." Rikku answers. "In fact, we all normally only see one another in training. This is the first we've had dinner together in, what . . . five months?"

Roxas raises eyebrows in surprise. "Really? Why so?"

"Well we normally have dining rooms in our bedrooms. Don't get the wrong idea, we're allowed to eat together, and in each other's rooms. It's just we train so much, and usually our laziness keeps us from traveling from one floor to another." Yuna chuckles.

After dinner, over which he contemplates all of his planned escape routes and how he might make more weapons for himself, Roxas is told to head back to his room.

Still dressed in his indigo and periwinkle ensemble, Roxas paces through his rooms. Rikku had said that they usually go to training after dinner, and while some of his men were allowed to join, Roxas was apparently the only one asked to retreat back to his room by a female servant. When asked why, she merely said that she was there to deliver news.

The only thought that keeps him from the pinnacle of boredom is the thought of the library and if any of the other Faceless members were allowed to have access to the books, if they wanted?

Roxas slumps into his chair. He is tired, but the sun has barely set. Instead of reading, he could perhaps use the pianoforte, but . . . well, until has been a while, and he isn't sure he could endure the sound of his own stumbling, clumsy playing. He traces a finger over a splotch of fuchsia silk on his uniform. All those books, with no one to read them.

An idea flashes, and Roxas jumps to his feet, only to sit at all the desk and grabs a piece of parchment. If Maleek insists on protocol. Then he'll give it to him in abundance. Roxas dips the glass pen in a pot of ink and holds it over the paper.

With his neatest hand writing and gathering all of the most advanced vocabulary he can muster, Roxas begins to write.

_Dear Mistress Tifa,_

_It has come to my attention that your library isn't a library, but rather a personal collection for only you and your esteemed advisors to enjoy. As many of your million books seem to be present and underused, I must beg you to grant me permission to borrow a few so that they might receive the attention they deserve. Since I am deprived of company and entertainment, this act of kindness is the least someone of your importance could deign to bestow upon a lowly, miserable wretch such as I._

_Yours most truly,_

_Roxas Skyes_

Roxas beams at his note and hands it to the nicest-looking servant he can find, with specific instructions to give it immediately to the Faceless' Mistress. When the woman returns half an hour later with a stack of books piled in her arms, Roxas laughs as he swipes the note that crowns the column of leather. His heart irrationally leaps at the sight of the Mistress' handwriting, as if even the most recognition and physical essence of her makes him feel honored, since it would seem she has little interaction with her own members. And the fact that she has replied along _with_ the books makes Roxas strangely happy.

_My Most True Assassin,_

_Enclosed are seven books from my personal library that I have recently read and enjoyed immensely. You are, of course, free to read as many of the books in the castle library as you wish, but I command you to read these first so that we might discuss them. I promise they are not dull, for I am not one inclined to sit through pages of nonsense and bloated speech, though perhaps you enjoy works and authors who think very highly of themselves._

_Most affectionately,_

_Madam Tifa_

Roxas laughs again and takes the books from the woman's arms, thanking her for her trouble. He walks into his bedroom, shutting the door with a backward kick, and drops onto the bed, scattering the books across the crimson surface.

As he takes a second look at the letter, he notices the extra writing towards the bottom of the page.

_P.S. I wish to request an audience with you on matters of your stay here at my castle, as well as you indoctrination into my faction of assassin. I will send someone to collect you at my earliest convenience_.

His heart skips a beat and he swallows down to loosen his throat. He feels nervous, but it's indecisive as to whether it is fear or eagerness. Roxas is more than willing to prove himself to the Faceless Mistress, but never imagined he'd see her so soon, let alone that she'd be so willing to speak with him so soon.

Setting the note into the drawer of his end table, Roxas returns his attention to the books. None of the titles doesn't seem recognizable, though one author is familiar. Choosing the book that seems the most interesting, Roxas flips onto his back and begins to read.

Roxas awakes at around six o'clock in the evening to a knock at his door and a muffled voice calls behind it.

"Come in." Roxas grants.

The door opens and in steps in with a girl with auburn hair and violet eyes. She has the soft smile like Namine and a pile of clothes in her one hand. "Hey." She greets.

"Namine?" Roxas questions.

The girl giggles, her bangs parted to the opposite side she flips out of her eyes. "No, that's my sister. I'm Kairi."

She extends out her hand Roxas takes it. "Kairi." He repeats.

Kairi is of the same built of Namine, only she appears to have more upper body strength where as Namine has powerful legs.

"What's that?" Roxas points to the pile of dark purple and black clothes.

"You're new uniform." Kairi answers.

"My what -?" Roxas stutters. "Already?"

"Yep, because measuring and adjusting takes a good two hours." Kairi nervously giggles.

Roxas groans as Kairi places the clothes on the dresser.

"Come on, if we can keep up a conversation, it'll go by like that." She snaps her fingers to emphasize. "Now, for more important matters, you have Maleek as your mentor!"

She squeals and hops onto Roxas bed. Roxas rolls his eyes, and shrugs his shoulders. He rotates her finger in a circle in the air. "Yay?" he grumbles.

"Don't act like you're not excited." Kairi nudges Roxas' arm.

"Who said I was acting."

"Come on! Okay so he's brooding and moody, but he's pretty hot." Kairi smiles. Roxas rolls her eyes. "Okay, think about this. He's the second in command of the Faceless, having him around could make everyone treat you with more respect."

"I'm not here to gain anyone's respect, and I shouldn't have to. Wait, why do I even need a mentor anyway?"

"Well, every assassin faction is different. And here we have different teachings. Or at least I would think."

"I'll admit to being more than eager to learn, but I feel like I have already outlasted the best of your, assassins." Roxas explains. "I just hope they'll be enough to convince my father to leave me alone."

Kairi stays quiet for a moment, then slinks off the bed. "Okay!" she claps her hands together. "Get up!"

"What? What for?" Roxas asks propping on his elbows.

"To make sure your uniform fits." Roxas asks.

Roxas groans and gets up from the bed. He lets Kairi escort him over to right in front of the redwood mirror. He stands straight so that Kairi takes his measurements.

"Hold your arms out." She instructs.

Kairi immediately pokes Roxas between the ribs. He squeaks and instinctively claps his arms to his sides.

"Oh relax. Now come on, the sooner we can get this done, the sooner I leave you alone." Kairi persuades.

Roxas sighs and holds out his arms horizontal. Kairi loops the tape around Roxas' waist and drew it in snug. She strips the tape away and pulls a pen form her ear to mark a pad of paper. Roxas clamps his arms in against himself against like chicken wings as the Kairi fusses around her.

"Ow!" he jolts as Kairi pinches him right on the fleshy part of his underarm. Then he feels Kairi take the tape and string it around his bustline. "Hey!" he reflexively smacks her hand away.

"Oh, I hate you," Kairi grumbles, making a note on the sheet of paper. She pulls the tape away again, this time drawing out one of Roxas' arms to measure its circumference. Scowling, Roxas gives up with a huff, resigning himself to be handled and measured and cataloged.

Soon, Kairi has Roxas in a simple black that's skin tight; his clothes from Genie folded and entombed in the bottom drawer of the dresser. Then Roxas watches as Kairi pulls out the wrappings. Roxas takes a timid step back, hesitant as she approaches.

"What?" Kairi asks.

"I'm just . . . hesitant." Roxas carefully speaks, unwilling to admit he's nervous about a simple piece of cloth.

"Oh don't worry." Kairi replies, unphased. "They're just wrappings. They're actually more comfortable than you think."

Suddenly it occurs to Roxas just how easily he has already succumb with the Faceless. Before, he wanted to destroy them for slandering his father's name, but now he's joined them and is more than willing to do anything to stay in their good graces. It sounds degrading, he's aware of this, but with his father after him, as well as the bounty still out there, he has little choices. As Kairi begins to wrap the cloth around Roxas' arm, he asks.

"So uh, how do you guys do that, shadow thing?"

Kairi looks to her with a confused look.

"Um, I mean, how do you guys vanish? Like cause those effects?" he rephrases.

"Oh!" Kairi exclaims. "The cloak's enchanted." She bluntly answers.

Roxas nods as Kairi begins to wrap the cloth around his torso. Roxas flexes his arm, and while he expects the cloths to bunch up and loosen, instead they stay put. They stay wrapped to his skin, and don't pull or pinch. Roxas looks closer and watches as the cloths morph together and stick to one another, hearing the fibers mold together with a crinkling sound. Kairi has already wrapped the other arm and Roxas rotates them in circles and flexes his arms forward and back.

"How's it fit?" Kairi asks.

"Fits, good." Roxas says in an astonished tone. "So, another question. Do you take contracts from only women?"

Kairi shakes her head. "Sometimes we take those of widowed men whose wives or lovers or spouses, that have been murdered or assaulted or kidnapped."

"Maleek said that you guys, what's the word, give vengeance to victimized women."

"Yes." Kairi answers. She leaves the front of Roxas' chest open exposing the shirt while trying to finish Roxas' torso. She moves onto his legs after she gives him padded shoes. The wrappings fit around with a smooth finish, no folds sticking out, just a smooth finish to give the illusion of one uniform.

"Okay, one more question."

Kairi chuckles. "Jeez, you ask a lot of a questions."

Roxas nearly knees her in the eye, but just taps her on temple.

"So, you guys kill for the, justice of women? Does that make you good?" Roxas asks.

Kairi finishes pinning the wrap under the inner arch of his left foot. Roxas can't get over how Kairi giggles.

"What? What is it?"

Kairi is about to answer, when Roxas' door opens and Maleek steps inside. "Hey Kairi . . ."

Roxas face flushes and when he realizes that Kairi is pinning the end of the cloth near his upper thigh.

"Is he almost done?"Maleek asks, impatient.

"You can't rush perfection, Maleek."

"I'm not rushing perfection. I'm rushing you." he snaps.

Kairi rolls her eyes and begins to finish wrapping the open space across Roxas' chest.

"Now, even though it's not finished yet, but . . ." Kairi takes a pin from the pile of clothes and begins to fold and place the wrap. "What do you think?"

Roxas glances over his shoulder and watches as Kairi steps back to admire her work. She rounds up to the front with Maleek, forcing Roxas to look at them both. Roxas keeps his chins high and his back straight as he prepares for Maleek's bombardment of insults.

After a moment of silence, Roxas cocks his head up slightly, peeking under his eyelashes. Maleek still stares at him, then he shrugs his shoulders.

"Well, you're not as ugly as I thought." He says.

Roxas is left baffled and astonished at his compliment. Or at least as close to a compliment as he's bound to get. Kairi hops to Roxas' side and tries to keep her squeals contained. Still when she bounces up and down, her breasts bouncing with them. Roxas realizes how, shaped, they are for a fifteen year old. They hop opposite to Kairi, and Roxas even thinks she might hit herself in the face with them.

After a few more minute of pinning and the cloth molding into place, Kairi hops back. "Well, my work is done!" She squeaks.

She skips out after him, and while Roxas tries to stop her, she still leaves, leaving his questions still unanswered. Roxas rubs his head as a dull throb taps his temple. He looks again to the mirror and draws a shaky breath.

From his neck down he is coiled in black and purple wrappings. Black open-fingered leather gloves cover his hands with studs poking out atop the knuckles. His hair is a sharp contrast to the black and purple, sticking out like a gleaming blade of a newly polished sword. Ruffling his spikes and smooth his sideburns, he didn't even notice Kairi had draped a deep purple cloak around his shoulders. Small wisps of black flow off and fade in the air like steam from a cup of tea.

Roxas crouches down like he's ready to sneak, pulling the hood over his head. He watches as the entire cloak as the shadows thicken from the bottom and crawl their way up to his shoulders and enveloping the hood, concealing his face. Roxas lifts a hand up and sees the wrappings have turned pitch black as well. When he stands, the blackness fades and the purple shows through again. Roxas turns his hand over and over, fascinated.

Around his waist is the belt holding all his weapons, and Kairi seemed to even heave strapped all of his knives and swords and daggers and even his gun to his wait, along with a new addition. The long knives he received in Agrabah were never really part of his ensemble, but Kairi has found a convenient way to incorporate them without making them a hassle with the wardrobe.

The blades are crafted from high carbon, tempered steel and comes with matching decorative scabbard. This wicked knife's hilt is cast metal and the deadly blade is blackened to a deep black luster and nicely balanced.

He watches in the mirror as Maleek appears again in the doorway, looking impatient.

"Alright, enough self-gawking," He starts, then stops as Roxas faces him. His brows lower as his eyes travel along Roxas' body. His head cocks, and he opens his mouth as if to say something, but only shakes his head and scowls. "Upstairs. Now."

Roxas bows, looking up at him beneath lowered lashes. "Where, pray tell, are we going?"

"Oh, don't simper at me." he grabs Roxas by the arm, guiding him out of the room. Roxas winds up tripping on his cloak, but at least the shoes – while not boots – have soles that are built for running; because Maleek will hear none of Roxas' objections as he drags him into the hall. Roxas smiles at the other Faceless walking outside the door, and his smiles bursts into a grin at their exchanged approving glances. Maleek's grip tightens until it hurts. "Hurry," he says. "We can't be late."

"Perhaps if you'd given me ample warning, id' have dressed earlier and you wouldn't have to drag me!" As they hurry up a long staircase, Roxas raises a hand to his hood to adjust it.

"I was busy with other tasks; you were fortunate enough to be dressed. Thankfully this is rather appropriate to see our Mistress."

"Your Mistress?" Roxas is thankful that he'd eaten dinner already.

"Yes, our Lady Tifa. Did you think you wouldn't see her? This meeting will mark your official beginning. You real work begins tomorrow."

Roxas' arms become heavy and he forgets all about his letter to the Mistress and the stack of borrowed books scattered on his bed. In the gardens, the queer, off-kilter cloak tower begins chiming the hour. They reach the top of the staircase and rush down a long hallway. He can't breathe.

Nauseated, Roxas looks out the window that lines the passage. The earth is far below – far, far below. They are in the glass addition. Roxas doesn't want to be here. He can't be in the glass castle. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because she just decided to see you now. She'd originally said tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully we haven't kept her long."

Roxas feels like fainting. The Mistress of the Faceless.

"When you enter," Maleek says over his shoulder, "stop where I stop. Bow – low. When you raise your head, keep it high and stand straight. Don't look her in the eye, don't answer anything without 'Milady' attached, and do _not_, under any circumstances, talk back. She'll have you hanged if you don't please her."

Roxas has a terrible headache around his left temple. Everything is sickly and frail. They are so high up, so dangerously high . . . Maleek stops before rounding a corner. "You're pale."

Roxas has difficulty focusing on Maleek's as he breathes in and out, in and out. He hates the wrappings. He hates Maleek. He hates glass castles.

The days surrounding his retrieval and traveling had been like a fevered dream, but he can perfectly visualize the trip – the dark hair of the horse that carried him, the smoothness of the saddle beneath him, the way his injuries still ached from battle, and the terrible silence that had overtaken his body and soul. He never has glanced at the Mistress – but other stories say it was enough to make anyone reckless, to wish for any punishment that would take them far from her – even a quick death.

"Roxas." He blinks, his cheeks burning. Maleek's features soften. "She is just a woman. But a woman you should treat with the respect her rank demands." Maleek begins walking with Roxas again, slower. "This meeting is only to remind you of why you're here, and what you're to do, and what you stand to gain. You're not on trial. You will not be tested today." They enter a long hallway, and Roxas spies four guards posted before large glass doors at the other end. "Roxas." Maleek stops a few feet from the guards. His eyes are rich, deep blue.

"Yes?" Roxas' heartbeat steadies.

"You look rather deadly today." is all Maleek says before the doors open and they walk forward. Roxas raises his chin as they enter the room.


	17. Chapter 16

Cloud hisses in pain as he clutches his arm wrapped in crimson bandages. Even with the explosion on the hill days ago, his arm still stings, and Cloud doesn't need a mirror to know he looks horrid. He lost a handful of men in that explosion, and when he regained consciousness after the explosion, he found himself in a field of dead bodies; the corpses already blanketed by flies and a few already having crows pecking out the eyeballs.

He shooed away as many as he could to salvage for any weapons and supplies. He still has a fair number of men with him, Saix holding down the fort while Cloud is out.

Saix was reluctant to have Cloud leave, saying he shouldn't burden himself with hunting down his traitor son. Cloud of which made Saix eat his words with deep threats and a dagger to Saix's throat. Roxas isn't a traitor, he's just confused; the thoughts and ideas of that pirate crew has tainted his mind, and he needs to realize what it is he's leaving behind.

He will have his heir. He will get his son back. And besides, Cloud knew he wouldn't be able to stand sitting at the safe house while the men retrieve Roxas. It was torture enough when he was gone for nearly a month and all Cloud could do was receive news and train all day. He couldn't even focus on his contracts as all he cared about was when the next guild member would come back with news on Roxas' whereabouts.

Cloud only has around nine men of the twenty he started with. He now sits atop a horse of ebony black, his cloak pulled up over his head, doing little to stifle the chill of the autumn wind. Winter is approaching. Cloud anticipates it as it'll be easier to track Roxas and his men; hopefully. Perchance he taught Roxas too well on coving his tracks. The boy always was a fast learner.

Several men walk around or beside him while two to three travel by horseback. Others tree leap ahead, the branches rustling ever so slightly from the tips of their toes. Cloud looks to the sky and finds an overcast. Snow will be approaching, if not rain. One former member of the Shark Guild drops down next to Cloud's horse and Cloud stops. The member bows his head and crosses one arm over his chest in salute. "Sir."

Cloud nods in return.

"The town of Agrabah is near. Shall we rest there for the night?"

"We shall. Grab two men and scope ahead. I will be there shortly." Cloud approves. As the member heads off, Cloud turns to the men and informs them of their staying in Agrabah. He can hear the collective sigh of relief as he turns around and leads them into the city.

The guards posted at the gates think nothing of Cloud's group of men, thinking they're nothing more than a traveling group of peasants mixed in with a few horsemen. Cloud dismounts as a stable boy comes over to take his horse. Flicking his hood to cover his golden hair, once past the guards, Cloud motions the men forward.

He allows them to disperse around the market place, ordering them to be at the inn before midnight. And no whores.

As Cloud saunters into the square, he notices a small group of guards surrounding something. Cloud approaches, making sure to keep enough distance to avoid suspicion.

He can see two of them with arms crossed standing in front of a small pool of blood, and a small bell. He carefully goes stall to stall, getting closer and closer inconspicuously. He manages to stop at a textiles stall close enough to spot a small bell sitting next to the pool of blood. A third guard inspects the area. A crime scene.

Cloud peers over his shoulder and finds a small pin the size of a wasp's stinger pokes out from the top half of the bell. Cloud can even see a small tint of green. Venom of the hourglass scorpion.

Cloud settles onto a nearby bench with two other villagers and give an exaggerated sigh as he sits. Carefully he laces his hands together and listens to the guard's conversation as he wipes his hands.

"I still don't understand why the princess was smart enough to let an assailant into the palace. She might as well just have laid out her valuables and hog-tied herself." One speaks.

"Hush, Cain. Though I admit, I do see your perspective. But after that boy was attacked I the marketplace, she assumed it was the least she could do." say another.

"The boy had over a hundred rebels with him. Letting him into the palace is not repayment, but stupidity masked with kindness."

Cloud feels his heart skip. He carefully glares up at the guards as they continue their conversation. He rises from his seat and dares to go over to the scene. The guard notice him, and set their hands on the pommels of their swords.

"Oh goodness. What happened?" Cloud says with a façade of shock.

"Aw some woman tried to assassinate this poor boy a couple days ago."

_And the crime scene is still here_? Cloud thinks.

"The poor boy. He must've been so scared. Is he still around?"

"No, he left town shortly after. Rather rude given the hospitality he was given by the princess." The guard wiping his bloodied hands speaks.

"I can imagine seeing how scared he must've bene. I wouldn't want my son staying in this city." Cloud says.

"Actually, he managed to kill the woman before she could even draw out the blade." The guard on the right interjects. "I have to admit it was rather impressive. He was so quick to draw a weapon and take her out. She never stood a chance."

"Hmm, he seems like he could be quiet the threat."

"That's what I said." The red-handed guard says as he jabs the other on his left.

"If he was, he missed his chance. He was in the palace with the Sultan and the princess. He would've made a move then."

"But who would send an assassin on a helpless little boy?" Cloud asks.

"Who knows." The guard shrugs. "Assassinations happen all the time. Perhaps this is just another one of those cases."

With a glance of the other guard, he sighs. "Now, if you'll excuse us sir, we must be getting back to the scene."

Cloud bows his head. "Of course, I appreciate your time gentlemen."

Making his way back to the inn, Cloud already spots a handful of his men scattered around the tavern as he makes his way towards the private room he reserved. Shutting the door behind him, Cloud hangs his cloak atop a coat hanger and throws himself onto the bed.

He strips off his tunic and tosses is aside onto a chair settled next to a table. Rolling on his back, the smell of exotic spices of the pillow waft into his nose. Ever since Roxas had fled, Seifer One has been absolutely barking at Cloud to have his son Seifer Two take over the empire of the guilds. If it weren't for the support of Larxene and a handful of other members, Cloud could've easily been out ruled. It also helped that Cloud gave Seifer a beating he so well deserved.

He reflects back to the night when the King launched his first attack against the guilds, and Cloud's mansion was burned to the ground. His reputation and his fear over the people has since been tarnished. Only through brutal killings did he manage to regain a small portion of his long earned respect. Most of the people have sided with Roxas given the story had spread around town and Cloud's way of parenting was deemed cruelty. Some of the citizens did still whisper and hush others when they spoke of Roxas, in fear that he has gone rogue and betrayed his father, but Cloud is still working to rebuild his empire out of the ashes.

Shutting his eyes, Cloud sighs and rolls over towards the window. The silver lining of the full moon is all he sees before darkness envelops him.

"_Daddy_!"

Cloud can hear him calling out. His voice little and piped.

Standing in a mist of purple, Cloud looks all around and finds nothing but darkness. There's the smell of fresh soap and dew drops and Cloud looks down to find footprints, darker than the blackness beneath him, he spots tiny footprints circling him before heading off straight ahead of him.

He takes the steps forward and follows the tiny footprints. They move quickly, enough to make him jog before he catches up to them. From there he watches them appear with his own steps.

How long he follows them, he doesn't know, but by the time they stop, Cloud nearly crashes into a wooden door seemingly out of nowhere. Cloud gazes all round it to see if anyone was following him. There was no one.

"_Daddy, come and play with me_!" the voice chirps again.

"Who is – How can that . . .?"

He clasps his hand around the bronze knob and pushes forward.

Through the door is a large green plain full of lush green trees, a meadow filled with flowers and the sound of birds chirp against his ears. How can this be? Where was he?"

Then a child's laughter fills the air. Cloud jerks his head to the left and finds Roxas running through a field of flowers. He is young . . . so, so young. His hair is a platinum blonde and still stylized with his spikes swooped to one side. He wears a tunic the color of a beige colored tunic too big for him; the sleeves flow long past his arms and the collar droops off of one shoulder. His face is so smooth and innocent and his smile is so wide as he laughs and chases after a blue butterfly fluttering just out of his reach as he jumps and claps his hands together.

"Roxas?" Cloud whispers as he takes a step towards his young son. Roxas still hops for the butterfly as he navigates towards Cloud. He's barely out of the age of a toddler. For a moment, Cloud just stares at his young son, the sight so foreign to him. It's been so long since he's seen he boy even crack a smile like that.

As Roxas comes closer, Cloud habitually crouches down and extends out his arms. Roxas is about to run into them when another voice calls his name and he stops.

He turns back and Cloud looks over to find . . . himself. He too is younger, possibly in his early twenties. Roxas squeals with laughter as he rushes back over to the younger Cloud, who crouches down just like he is, and hold out his arms.

Roxas jumps into his arms and Cloud wraps him up and holds Roxas up in the air above him. They laugh and Cloud can't help but notice how smooth both of their skin is. Deprived of most scars and bruises. They look so young.

"Daddy, did you see it? I almost had it." Roxas says, his tiny voice practically lacerating Cloud's heart.

This has to be a dream.

Cloud lowers Roxas and holds him in his arms. "You did!" Cloud smiles. "But you can't let it get away next time."

"I won't. I promise." Roxas smiles.

"You're a good boy, Roxas." Cloud hands him a small daisy flower and Roxas starts to pluck the petals off. He kisses Roxas hair and Roxas wraps his tiny arms around Cloud's neck; they don't even wrap all the way around. They just hug his sides and Roxas nestles into Cloud' neck.

"I love you, Daddy." Roxas smiles.

Cloud rubs Roxas' back and leans his head against Roxas'. "I love you too, son."

Cloud takes another step forward and then the world becomes a haze of images and a smearing of colors. Fighting vertigo, Cloud throws out his arms to feel for walls, but as he's about to drop and convulse, the swirling stops at a screeching halt.

This time the forest has aged. The flowers are gone and the sky is a darker blue. Some of the green leaves are gone, scattered on the ground and the sound of running water drowns out the chirping of the birds. Cloud looks all around as the smell of dew drops replace the perfume of the spring flowers. Everything is quiet.

Cloud takes a step forward, his feet making no noise on the rocks near the river. Then a snap of a twig sounds and Cloud whirls at attention.

There he finds Roxas once again, older this time; most likely ten or eleven. He now wears a brown leather jacket over a black tunic and trousers. He has a bow knotted with an arrow and a sheath of ten other arrows strapped on his back. Cloud doesn't bother to hide behind a tree, but stands where he is as he watches his son stalk through the trees. He can already spot something wrong with his steps, as they are still too loud, and he's not aware of his surroundings. Though he keeps cocking his head, he still seems a step behind.

Cloud follows Roxas as he peers out from behind the thick trunk of a tree and draws the string. Up ahead is a healthy stag grazing among the grass. The buck's ear twitches and his head rise up immediately. His ears erect back and forth and his nostrils flare.

He knows he's there.

Roxas carelessly shoots the arrow and the animal dodges to the left before the arrow could penetrate a soft spot on his neck. Growling in annoyance, Roxas snarls and leans against the tree.

"You gave yourself away." Cloud's voice pierces through. Both Cloud and the younger Roxas cock their head in the same direction as Cloud, still fairly young, emerges from the shadows of the treeline. He holds a disappointed scowl and has his arms folded. His skin has scars on it now, and he's aged a good few years by the color of his hair.

"I had it in my sights." Roxas says as Cloud approaches. "I can't understand what I did wrong."

"You were too noisy."

"Still?"

"Not only that, but if you feel he's going to flee, don't just shoot your arrows lamely. You won't always get a second chance to strike if you're taking down an enemy." Cloud informs as he takes out one of Roxas' arrows and inspects it.

"That is if I ever get the chance." Roxas says as he snatches back the arrow.

"You will when you've proven you're good enough." Cloud retorts.

Watching the two walk off, he can't help but notice to annoyed and . . . hurt expression on Roxas' face. The world swirls into a smear of colors and Cloud starts to get wobbly on his feet as they swirl around him like a funnel. Wind rushes and howls around him like a demon. He watches as the wind itself soon becomes thicker and reflective like water.

Soon he can see his reflection of himself and it gives him a steady mind as the colors wash away into a steel grey color. It is bland and Cloud's reflection is all he sees. He wears his uniform from the day.

Slowly all around him are images that begin to ripple through the smooth, sheen surface and a small opening about the size of a circular mirror. Peering inside, his younger self and younger Roxas. From right all the way around ending on his left, Cloud can see the years passing by as Roxas gets older.

Starting on his right, he can see Roxas as a young boy, about age six, and is just starting to learn how to wield a dagger. He holds it with steady hands, but clumsily swipes and slashes at a training dummy's leg. Cloud chuckles as well as his younger self. The younger Cloud approaches and settles on his knees behind Roxas.

He sets his hands on the boy's and rests his chin on his shoulder, adjusting the level of Roxas' arms. "Remember to keep your arms level." He softly speaks.

Moving onto the next, Roxas is then ten years old, and he practices now with a sword and spins and twirls the blade with ease, and he whacks at the dummy. Behind him, Cloud repeats a series of numbers one through six. He paces back and forth behind Roxas as he observes. Roxas speaks in smooth sentences as he keeps in time with Cloud's counting.

"I live in Twilight Town, rich district, population five point six millions peoples." He says, his forehead gleaming with sweat and his tunic sticking to his small but muscled frame.

"Tell me again."

"We live at 301 Avenue on Market Street. I go to school at the Twilight Central for Boys, and my best friends are Beatrice Prior and Katniss Everdeen."

"Faster." Cloud barks.

Roxas increases the speed of his hits; yet he still retains the smoothness of his tone. "I like literature and sport, particular tennis and athletics. I also have a dog named Gunther."

"Faster!"

The memory then fades and Cloud continues on as another one fades into view. In this one, Roxas is sparring off against Cloud, both are sweaty and heaving; Roxas looking ready to collapse. Cloud remembers this fight. It was after Roxas had turned fifteen.

"You're enemy's not going to wait for you to catch your breath. So neither should you." Cloud says. "Always be acting. Never reacting."

Neither of them have weapons, and Roxas charges forward ready to spin and swing his foot at Cloud's head, but Cloud blocks it easily and soon has Roxas pinned to the ground by the arm. Roxas grunt in pain, hissing into grit teeth.

"You're fifteen, Roxas." Cloud growls in anger. "Stop fighting like a child!"

Even as Roxas manages to break the hold, Cloud swipes out his feet and rams his knee into Roxas' stomach, sending him sprawling onto the ground, nearly crawling to get to his hands and knees. His arm shakes viciously from trying to push himself up. His eyes show pain, true pain and odium. Thwarted by the defeat? Or perhaps it's directed at Cloud as he walks away leaving Roxas on the floor.

Cloud feels his blood run cold and he swallows thickly as he turns his head to the next. He simply sees Roxas standing on a wooden plank that extends out from the clock tower that overlooks the city. He remembers. He would make Roxas stand on the highest locations in the city to have him grow used to the heights.

"_Daddy_!"

Cloud turns his head and finds Roxas kneeling over the body of a dead bear with five arrows in his hind and Roxas cuts away the skin with his knife. The ground is covered in snow, a pool of red coming out from underneath the bear.

His cheeks and nose are red from the cold, and he can't get past the incredible difference of Roxas' facial structure. He has sharper edges now, and he appears more like a man with small scars along his jaw line and up one half of his right cheek. His face doesn't hold the innocence it had when he was a child, and Cloud can see the anger that's been burned into his eyes as he narrows his eyebrows at the carcass.

As Roxas hurries to skin the animal, Cloud's voice once again comes out of nowhere.

"You're dead. Right now. I've killed you."

This is when Roxas was seventeen. Roxas flings some entrails at Cloud of which he dodges. The two engage in battle where Roxas nearly wins, but Cloud pulls one last trick and Roxas is on his back into the snow.

"You were half asleep." Cloud insults. "I thought you had learned."

As Cloud gets up and walks away, Roxas lying on his back in the snow with fisted hands and heaving breaths, he suddenly sits up and speaks. "Father. I'll do better next time."

Cloud stops and glances over his shoulder.

The real Cloud begs to his counterpart to say something.

"Yes, you will." He speaks. "Now drag the deer back yourself."

The last thing Cloud sees before the portal closes his Roxas' frustrated look as he rests his elbows on his knees and runs a hand through his hair.

After the image closes off, the vortex widens and howls before dissipating into nothing, leaving Cloud in the blackness of before. His heartbeat is vastly pacing as he looks all around. Waiting for more memories to come up. With all the reviewing Cloud assumed there had to be some meaning.

Maybe something his subconscious is trying to tell him.

"Daddy." Cloud goes rigid as the voice comes from behind him. He slowly turns and finds little Roxas in a pale blue pajama top and holding a storybook in his little infant hands. "Will you read me s story?"

Cloud's eyes water as he kneels down, but somehow it's as if Roxas shifts so his back is to him, and Cloud appears in front of the young boy hunched over a desk, polishing a blade.

"Not now Roxas. I'm busy."

"But daddy, you promised -"

"I said not now!" Cloud screams, slamming his fist against the table. "I'm busy, now get to bed!"

Cloud's heart wrenches in his chest. He hears little Roxas sniffle as he turns away, clutching the book to his chest. His eyes are watery and he squeezes them shut, causing tears to fall on his rosy cheeks. He sniffles again as he walks past the real Cloud, ready to burst into tears.

Without realizing what he's doing, through his own blurry vision, Cloud reaches out a hand and actually manages to grasp the young boy's shoulder. Young Roxas turns with still watering eyes as he gazes into Cloud's. The sight of him so young and innocent makes Cloud's body lacerate with pain.

He sets both his hands on the young Roxas' shoulders and kneels down to his level. Roxas doesn't break their gaze as he wipes his eyes, his tiny arms still holding the book, and lip quivering.

Cloud doesn't say anything, as he doesn't know what to say.

Then the young Roxas wipes his nose and then holds the book out to Cloud. "Will you read me a story?" he asks.

Cloud's mouth agapes as he stares at the book and at the boy. He reaches out a hand and grasps the book. There is no title, it's merely a think little thing of turquoise color with a gold outer borderline .

Cloud sniffs and wipes his eyes. "I would love to. What's your favorite read?"

Roxas smiles and giggles as cloud shifts his position and Roxas crawls into the center of his lap. "I like the story, "_Jack and the Beanstalk_." Roxas says.

Cloud opens the book and somehow knows which page to turn to, which is bewildering considering the pages are empty of anything. They're just plain parchment with splotches of what looks like spills from drinks.

Still Cloud clears his throat and words that don't even sound like words come out of his mouth; sounding like gibberish and not a real language.

Then there's a whirling sensation and Cloud is tossed into nothing around and around until he looks up and he can see a faint light.

Cloud gasps and jolts in his bed.

Nighttime has stolen over Agrabah and the moon is far out of sight, the horizon starting to become a pinkish tint.

Immediately Cloud can feel his eyes still watering, and a cool trail runs down the side of his temples, into his ear, and he can even feel a few sections of hair moistened. Sitting straight up, Cloud rests his head in his hands and sighs.

His breath rattling as he exhales.

* * *

He sees the floor first. Red marble, its white veins illuminate in the light of the sun, which slowly vanishes as the opaque glass doors groan shut. Chandeliers and torches hang all around. Roxas' eyes dart from one side of the large, crowded chamber to the next. There are no windows, just a wall of glass looking out into nothing but sky. No escape, save for the door behind him.

To his left, a fireplace occupies most of the wall, and as Maleek leads Roxas farther into the room, Roxas tries not to stare at the thing. It is monstrous, shaped like a roaring, fanged mouth. A blazing fire burning within. There is something greenish about the flame, something that makes his spine straighten.

Maleek stops in the open space before the throne, and Roxas halts with him. He didn't seem to notice their ominous surroundings, or if he did, he hides it far better. Roxas pulls his gaze forward taking in the crowd that fills the room. Relief fills him as he sees Leon, Terra and Cid enter first, dressed in fine suits and hair washed and gleaming with shine instead of grease. Axel follows in behind him with Vanitas, then that's it.

Their eyes widen and Roxas feels so self-conscious, but resist the urge to pull his hood up over his head. He does look different, but he never assumed that different. True, the wrappings are more fitted, and the ensemble has such little armor Roxas feels almost nude; but with the enchanted wrappings and new training that's coming up, he tries not to be quick to jump to conclusions.

Stiffly, knowing that their eyes are upon them, Roxas drops into a low bow, his cape whispering.

He finds his legs weak when Maleek puts a hand on his back to motion him to rise. A servant is speaking with Tifa, and Roxas takes the moment to peer around at the men in the room, each sparing a smile. Axel still wears the outfit he had for dinner, and Vanitas is here as well. The absence of dirt and three months' worth of hard travel had a noticeable effect on his smooth face. He wears a red-and-gold jacket, his black hair brushed and shining. An expression of surprise crosses his features when he beholds Roxas in his finery, but it quickly melts into a wry grin as he looked towards The Mistress. Roxas might've returned it, had he not been focusing so much on keeping his hands from shaking.

Tifa is as beautiful as she's intimidating. Sea-foam white lace blooms from the sweeping neckline, washing upon her breasts from the powder-green ocean of silk that makes up the dress. A red sash covers the waist, forming an inverted peak that separates the bodice from the explosion of shirt beneath. Patterns of clear green beads are embroidered in whorls and vines across the whole of it, and bone-colored stitching stretches along the ribs. A cape of white velvet hands from her shoulders, and a sword is sheathed at her side. Her cheeks are smooth and round, as if Tifa has been carved from stone in the image of a goddess.

She speaks at last. "I want to that thank you, for coming out tonight. And I wish to give a massive thank you, for the young Assassin of Twilight Town for presenting me with his presence."

Roxas looks up and finds Tifa's eyes staring into his. He feels a small warmth press into his back, reminding him Maleek is still there.

"I see you've already gotten accustomed to your new wardrobe." Tifa speaks again, this time Roxas knows she's enticing an answer.

Roxas clears his throat and bows his head. "I am, Milady. And truly it is I, who is graced with your presence. For you have given shelter to my mangy group of survivors, as well as a second chance. Really, it is I who is unworthy to be in your company."

Roxas rises, her brown eyes still as piercing as ever.

She gives a closed-lip smile. "How are those books I sent you?"

His heart flutters. "T-They, they are wonderful, Milady. I've only just started one and I'm already halfway through."

"Which one?"

"_Skull in Ashes_." Roxas says.

"Ah," Tifa chimes. "That one is a great start. A story of a thief and his struggle for loyalties and respect."

Roxas gives a nervous laugh, trying to ignore the stares of surprise at the mention of his contact with the Mistress long before they're meeting, but shortly after their arrival to the castle.

Without word, Tifa motions a dainty hand in an inward circle. As if drawn by the motion, or as if it's reeling him in like a fish caught on a line, Roxas takes careful steps closer, one foot in front of the other. When she lowers her hand, Roxas stops. Now he's at least three feet in front of Maleek, closer to Tifa and her throne. He takes notice of how her eyes flick over Roxas' shoulder, and with calculations, he can tell she's gazing at Axel. The idea makes his stomach plummet.

"If it shall aid in staying in your good graces, we shall not be of burdens for you. We will help with any tasks that you wish, we'll help around the house so that you may not fear we are freeloading.

"Nonsense." Tifa speaks, she holds up a dainty hand with long fingernails to stop him. Roxas claps his mouth tight. "You are welcome here to stay for as long as you like."

"Thank you, Milady. I am most appreciative." Roxas bows his head.

Then, without warning, Tifa rises to stand from her throne. Roxas' heart throws itself backwards and clings to the bars of his ribcage. She steps down the stairs, her cape rippling over the steps behind her. The entire room goes rigid and Roxas resist the urge to place his hand on his weapon.

One the last step, Tifa sets her hand behind her back and begins to rotate around Roxas. At first he debates on keeping his head still, or to follow her around. Only when she rounds to his right side does he lift his head and stares at her face. Roxas always thought he had taken most of his physicality from his father with little resemblance to his mother, but looking closer, some small details seem similar.

Her cheekbones match Roxas' height, his eyes have a similar shape to his, even the shade of her pale skin. She stops in front of Roxas, her hands still clasped behind her back; but strangely Roxas can tell it's more as if she's restraining herself that to show a relaxed pose. She smiles and gives a slight hum.

"You take so much after your father." She says. The comment strikes Roxas' attention, and her face seems to express some form of nostalgia or like she's reminiscing on some memory. Then she immediately retracts it with, "I'm so sorry."

A small bud of anger buzzes inside his chest, but understands that the comment was supposed to be a joke. He forces a laugh and nods. "My mentors always said it was a curse."

Tifa makes it to his front and gives a sly smile shaking her head. When she turns back to her throne and mounts her steps, "Now while I know each other's history is already known to the other, but I still wish to get to know more about all of you." She turns around and points at Demyx. "You. What's your name, occupation, and where do you hail from? And be honest about it – I know none of you are bakers and candlestick makers."

Demyx swallows but gives his best smile. "Demyx, former fisherman and bard, I hail from Atlantica." Of course he has. Atlantica is the one city that comes to mind when any person is to think of music; some arguing it is the birthplace of music. It also explains why he was so jubilant when they had entered the city. Wonder what any of his possible friends say if they saw him now? Roxas grits his teeth; what would the people of Twilight Town say if they could see _him_ now?

Tifa, however, either doesn't know or doesn't care, and doesn't even give a nod before she points to Terra. "Terra. Former, master of the Wolf Guild of Twilight Town."

One by one, the one hundred thirty-five rebels introduced themselves to the Faceless Queen. There are the six Faceless members – all of which only give information of their particular set of skills and their specialty. Roxas was surprised to hear when Rikku's specialty was torture and manipulation. Roxas figured she would've said Deception, since she could easily be mistaken as a bubble-brained bitch, but he shrugs it off as the turn passes.

Only when she gets to Axel does Roxas perk at attention. He allows himself to browse around until his eyes find his spikey red hair upfront in the crowd. Axel doesn't look at him as he spoke. "Axel. Former sailor of the seas. I hail from the Land of Departure."

This is the first Roxas has heard of Axel's backstory; surprisingly. It never occurred to Roxas that he didn't bother to ask, let alone have the topic conjure in his head. Back then, when Roxas first landed on Axel's ship, he didn't really care. Axel already knew who Roxas was, and really that's all that mattered. Even when they shared their first kiss, Roxas never asked, too much occupied his mind, and it all still does. But perhaps once things get settled he can get Axe alone and they can spend the night talking to one another – and possibly share a few kisses here and there.

"Interesting back story." Tifa comments. This is the first she's spoken since she started with Demyx. "Is that all?"

"What else do you wish to know?" Axel replies. Roxas' heart slows and his body grows cold.

"I thought that id' recognized. You. Though I assume it'd be hard to forget someone with your color of hair. It matches blood _perfectly_." Tifa speaks. Roxas' palms grow moist with sweat and he has to resist the urge to place his hand on his pistol.

"My apologies, Milady, but I don't seem to recall meeting you." Axel says with a bow of his head.

"Of course you wouldn't. You never remember anything when you've spent hours at the bottom of a bottle."

A bullet is by far faster than Roxas charging with his sword. Perhaps he could shoot her in the back before she even draws her sword. Even if he braises her arm, those few seconds will be enough for Roxas to charge and send her across the room in time for escape.

Questions spiral through Roxas' head along with different strategies on how to avoid the mob of Faceless and getting all his members out alive.

_How does she know him_?_ How did she know all this_?

Axel says nothing, but Roxas can see the color drain from his face as Tifa rises from her throne. Roxas remains frozen in his place, his feet like lead. Tifa comes back down the steps, but doesn't pass Roxas. Instead, she stops, but keeps her gaze ahead. Roxas tries to steady his breathing as he van feel his chest rattle slightly.

"Roxas, I know of your father and his reputation, but what of your mother?"

Anger immediately replaces his fear. This was a repertoire he had closed long ago and forced himself to forget. The door is opened, and she is trying to wedge herself in. "I knew little of her. She passed when I was eight, and my father refused to speak of it."

Tifa looks to him and he surprisingly finds pity in her eyes. "You have no memories or momentums?"

"Not really. My father thought that there was no point in holding onto memories since it doesn't change what has happened. It can't bring her back. It won't make a difference."

Tifa sighs and closes her eyes. It's not a gesture that displays impatience, but rather as if something in his word made it painful for her to hear. "You don't want to know about her?"

"I do, but it's not something my father likes to talk about. I do have so many unanswered questions, but . . . I suppose there's nothing I can do." He says.

"There is always something you can do." Tifa says. She turns to Axel. "As I recall, Captain Axel, you had a rather difficult falling out with a young woman one particular evening."

_Oh no_.

Axel swallows, but nods his head. "Yes, Milady."

"And how did that end?" Tifa questions.

"I honestly don't know. I was a coward and ran off before I could see what happened."

_Oh gods no_.

"I see." She then turns her back to Axel and faces Roxas.

She approaches him, Roxas feeling cool beads of sweat dribble down his spine. She reaches out a hand, and instinctively Roxas pulls back. Tifa only giggles. "He's certainly trained you well. I just hope he never really gave you much sugar. Gods know what you're like."

"He only did it a few times, but what does this have to do with anything?" Roxas pauses, his skin numb and his blood soaring through his veins. He feels lightheaded. "Wait, how did you know my level of sugar intake?"

Tifa smiles as she comes closer. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to rescue you." she mumbles.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Milady." Roxas' mouth agapes and he sharply inhales a shaky breath.

"It would seem all these years you took after me." she smiles. "I wish I had gotten there sooner before he removed all of your innocence. It's my own fault."

"What are you saying?" Roxas questions, his hands starting to shake.

"Roxas," Tifa takes Roxas' hand. "I am your mother."


	18. Chapter 17

Roxas stares at Tifa, his hand clasped in hers, his mouth agape in shock.

"_I'm your mother_."

The words bang around the inside of his skull, reverberating into a throb on the outside of his temple. He needs to say something. The room is in a dead silence as everyone stares at the two. Roxas expects – hopes – that someone will burst out into laughter and make it all a cruel joke, but no one says anything.

Roxas' mouth quivers as he tries to gather his scrambling thoughts. "You . . . y-you're my mother?" he says quietly. Tifa nods with an encouraging smile. Roxas feels his shock shrivel down into the icy silence wallowing within his chest and his body grows warm. He yanks he hand out of her grasp and takes careful steps back, as if sensing he's stepping on landmines. "No, no you don't understand. This has to be some joke right?" Roxas coldly chuckles, still retreating as Tifa takes one cautious step towards him, as if the space between them is making her uncomfortable. "This is a joke. My mother is dead!"

Unable to look at her, Roxas turns his back to her and begins to rub his face as he feels his chest begin to hurt.

"I know it's shocking to take in, and I suspected you don't believe me. But I speak the truth. You are my son."

"Then prove it to me!" he says as he whirls to face her. "Tell me something personal. Something that no one else but you and I and Cloud would know."

Tifa squares her shoulders and raises her chin up. "You were born on the 18st of April, 1567; a Wednesday, the third week into the month. You weighed eight pounds and eight ounces, born at home on the third level of the house in a guest room. It was nine o'clock in the morning."

"What else?" Roxas scowls, unconvinced.

"It is spring; July 21, 1575. I was out for the night, after I had just tucked you into bed. Cloud had already began to build his Guild Empire, already with fifty men on his side. I was sent out on a covert mission to observe and report back to him on a small rival gang looking to corner two of his best men at the time." She says.

Axel feels his palms moist with sweat and Roxas swallowing a lump of what feel like wax in his throat.

"I was already sick of it all with the way he started to neglect being nothing else other than a ruthless guild master. He wasn't a faithful husband, or a father." She looks to Roxas with pain in her eyes. A cold drop of sweat trickles down Roxas' spine. "So instead of going on his mission, I wanted to flee. And I did. I had stopped at the town's local pub for the night, only to be disturbed by a spiky red-haired man who had already drank more than he could stupor."

Roxas follows her stare to Axel, who has gone rather pale. Her gaze is icy, gleaming like dagger that threaten to slice at Axel's throat. Roxas turns back to Tifa.

"Upon settling into the tavern he took it upon himself to stumble into my chambers." Tifa continues. Axel should say something, but he fears that even the slightest interruption could have him swinging at the gallows. He switches his gaze between Roxas and Madame Tifa, studying Roxas' posture carefully, almost readying himself for when he draws his sword and charges for him.

No. No he wouldn't do that. Just the fact alone of how little faith he has in Roxas disturbs him.

"After numerous attempts to get him to leave, I decided to depart myself. Also with the worry that Cloud would send out his men to retrieve me. That man, as you have already connected, is your beloved Axel." Roxas stares at Tifa, his supposed mother with an unblinking stare. She pronounces his name into syllables and with an obvious grudge tone. He prepares for her to strike Axel, of which he will kill her before she can even take her first step. "He tracked me into an alley where there was a falling out. I was nowhere near the skill Cloud was at already, and barely had time to attend to my lessons as I was taking care of you. So when he drew his dagger, my attempt was pathetic. He plunged the dagger into the front of my chest. Near my heart, but not through it. Admittedly that had to have been pure luck."

Roxas gives a slight gasp as he tries to inhale.

"Rather than to fight back, I decided to use it to my advantage in getting out of the Guild. So I collapsed onto the ground, making sure to widen the cut so that the blood would look convincing enough for them to declare me dead. When your friend fled the scene, so did I, making sure to drag myself enough so that the blood would look like a trail. I managed to lead them off to the docks where I then fled with as much strength as I could muster. At least with his drunken state, he couldn't argue against the prosecution that he most likely hid my body in the bay. He couldn't remember much after he had left me."

Axel nearly coughs. He can see it all. He follows the lovely woman with long raven hair into an ally. He begins to shout at her on why she won't indulge with him. He starts to yell as he slams his hand against the brick wall. A single streetlamp is illuminating the corner, still they are encased in shadows. With his eyes blurry from his intoxication, he couldn't be sure of what he saw, but there was something in her eyes that made him curious. It seemed like longing. At first he thought it was for him, but thinking back – gazing past her pleas for him to stop and to leave her alone – it was as if she wanted him to hurt her. In his drunken state, he couldn't be sure.

"Once I was sure, I had taken to an apothecary shop that was in business with the guild back then. The woman helped heal my wound and gave me enough supplies to make it out of the city. Most likely she's gone by now. Moved on, killed or out of business." Tifa turns and begins to pace back and forth in front of Roxas. "Once I made it out, I traveled around and hunted until I came to meet a mentor of my own. Then year progressed, and I was finally able to manage to build up my own empire. And now, here you stand. And that's my story."

Roxas stands there silent, the crackling of the fire the loudest thing in the room. At least for everyone else, Roxas can't hear anything past his pounding heart and the blood in his ears.

"No comment?" Tifa asks. She stops right in front of Roxas.

Roxas finally breaks their gaze and starts to stare at the floor as he turns on his heels and begins to tread back and forth. "Do, do you not understand how crazy this sounds?

"Deny it all you want, but I know a part of you believes me. Wants to believe me."

Then Roxas stops. His anger rises. He lifts his head slightly, staring vacantly at Demyx's feet. "Everyone's dismissed." He speaks.

Vanitas and Axel look to him with surprised eyes, Maleek ready to step forward and reprimand him; but Tifa speaks up immediately after him.

"You're all dismissed. Leave us alone."

The Faceless members turn and leave without argument, Maleek the last to leave, glancing over his shoulder.

"Roxas?" Vanitas speaks.

"Leave." Roxas coldly replies. He keeps staring at the floor and Axel takes Demyx first by the arm and leads him out. The rest of the men follow, Vanitas taking the lead. Axel is the last one to leave, disturbed by Roxas' averting gaze. Still he follows out as Vanitas holds the door open for him.

Once the doors shut with a muffled bang, Roxas lets the silence calm him as he tries to think of an appropriate sentence. Everything she said is true about Roxas, and she wouldn't have been able to describe the incident in that much detail if she was lying. Rubbing his chin, Roxas sighs into his palm as he rests his other hand on his hip.

"All this time." He starts softly. "All this time you never came back for me. You left me there and didn't look back."

"It wasn't that simple -"

"You left me with that monster of a man!" Roxas screams, his eyes brimming with tears. "Do you have any idea what he's put me through?! What he's done to me?! So many things; there are so many things that you could've stopped. Things that you could've intervened. Maybe then I wouldn't be as messed up as I am!"

"There is nothing wrong with you!" Tifa shouts. She goes to grasp Roxas' shoulder, but he senses her and jerks back.

"How would you know, huh?! You left me! You weren't there to raise me." He steps closer and lowers his voice, hissing his words at you. "You don't know _anything_."

He turns away, ready to leave when Tifa speaks up.

"I'm sorry." Roxas stops, but he keeps his back to her. "I know it won't matter, and it won't make up for what I've done to you. But you have to understand, things weren't that simple."

Roxas sighs and looks to her. "Enlighten me then."

Tifa sighs as she turns and goes to sit on her throne, simply in need of rest. "I thought you were better off without me."

"Better to leave me with a heartless controlling father than to run off with a mother who seems to actually see as a son rather than a weapon? Brilliant." Roxas seethes.

"Please understand; I struggled. I didn't have much. I wasn't what I am now, Roxas. Kingdoms aren't built within a day." Roxas carefully approaches, his cape whispering against the floor. "I thought that it was better to leave you with Cloud, because he had everything. He had food on his table, a roof over his head, and a bed to sleep in. I had nothing. How could I raise a child with such conditions. I barely had enough to provide for myself."

"So you fled."

"I did what I thought was best."

"You still abandoned me."

"Don't drive your anger at your father towards me."

"And who are you to give orders to me?"

Tifa sighs, but a small smile is on her lips. "You see, we are alike, you and I. Wife and Son, wounded by husband and father. Unfaithful in matrimony, he discards his oaths for other things. Irresponsible in patriarchy, he discards his family like an ungrateful child tossing away his toys."

"We are _nothing_, alike." Roxas snarls, staring Tifa straight in the eyes with defiance and hatred. "All of this," he waves his arms towards the grandness of the chamber. "means nothing! You still abandoned me! You'd rather have the man believe that you are dead than to having him find out that you left the guild; left him. You were afraid of him; afraid he would kill you should you have been captured. Eve you, feared your own husband. And he lives up to his cruelty. I am an example of that."

"And how is your situation different from mine?" Tifa shouts.

"The difference is I still have my friends! They all still live. I fled out of defiance." Roxas shakes his head in disapprovingly. "You fled out of fear. You're not my mother. You're a coward."

Roxas turns his back to the throne and strode out the door, ignoring Tifa's voice as she calls after him.

* * *

He pulls his hood up over his head to conceal his features. He doesn't speak to anyone as he head down the hallway, quickly moving from the throng of his crew, who lingered to speak amongst each other. Just as he could feel the wave of questions ready to crash into him, Demyx and Vanitas' voices call out to leave Roxas alone. Liberated, Roxas' feet take off into a run, barely catching Axel calling his name. With every step away from Tifa, steadying warmth returns. It wasn't until he rounds a corner that he lets out a deep breath and removes his hood.

Still he doesn't allow himself to stay. Making his way back to his room, Roxas shuts and locks the door. He stands there with his back pressed to the entrance before sliding down to the wood flooring.

His mother is alive. Alive! And she was just staring at Roxas now. Not only that, but she's the _leader_ of the Faceless! Earning her the title Queen of the Underworld.

All of these years she was out exploring in the world while Roxas was confined into the wall of his city. Not even that, into the walls of his father's mansion.

Things couldn't have been easy. And it's only until now does Roxas take into consideration what it is Tifa had said. "_It's not that simple_." True, it couldn't have been.

For once, Roxas switches their positions in his head. He imagines watching Cloud keep all of his focus on building his dark guild kingdom while he ignores the fact he has to take care of a child. He can see Cloud starting to kill and beat and rob and cheat men and women out of their business for coin, while a five year old watches. The hatred he feels towards him is so real and immediate that it chokes Roxas. It's most likely she left before Cloud started training Roxas to become an assassin. The image or thought alone of having to watch Roxas – her only son –become the world's most feared assassin must've been too much.

Now he imagines fleeing the city, the fear that at any moment a minion of his father could snatch him up at any moment, or report back to him of treason sends shivers down Roxas' spine. He understands. He lives that now.

Then there are those grueling nights of little food and sleep. And the winters. Slowly Roxas can feel his shoulders sag as he pictures his mother huddled in a small cave half frozen and huddling as close to a small fire as she can. She probably wasn't that bad, but still the image is enough to make his heart feel as heavy as iron.

Roxas sits on the cold floor, staring straight ahead as he huddles into himself. He gazes out of the double doors that lead to a balcony and notices the sky being a noticeably darker shade of blue.

Winter would soon be here. Snow will decorate the ground and the roofs of houses. Lights will be strung along gutters and people will look twice at a beggar for the upcoming holiday of Yuletide.

What would have happened to his group should they have not found shelter in time for the first snowfall? If Tifa hadn't offered them the shelter they needed. They'd probably be half dead, or just so miserable that they'd wish for such a blessing. Either that or mutiny would've produced long before hand.

Still Roxas can't bring himself to simply forgive his . . . mother for leaving him. It is bad enough that he had felt abandoned by his father by the age of twelve, with his mother dead, he couldn't really hold it against her for not being there. But now he can.

His emotions become so overwhelming that Roxas growls, nearly yelling as he pushes himself to his feet. He pauses as he shoves open the doors to the dining room and finds the table spread with a large feast fit for twenty men, and it's all for him.

At least with his chambers being private, no one can see his meltdown. Over the next hour, Roxas spends his time knocking aside every single dish on the table, dumping the food into the fire, or simply smashing it on the ground with the plate. He takes a coal shovel out from the fireplace holder and simply begins smashing at the tableware, the glasses and the table itself. He lets loose the foulest words he can think of while he brings down the shovel and smashing each and every last plate and stabbing at the cherry wood.

This has more to it than just his frustration at the his newly revealed mother, but his deranged father, his horrid life that he can't seem to escape, all of the lives that he's been declared responsible for, being branded as an outcast. Relief and satisfaction fill him with every dish he smashes, with every glass he crushes, and how many scratch marks he leaves in the expensive wood.

Finally his arms are heavier than stone and he's heaving for air. By then, the floor is scattered with broken bits of glass and porcelain, forks and knives are stuck in the mantle of the fireplace or are burning in the flames itself, and the room smells of burned food. Sweat glistens on Roxas' forehead and he slumps into one of the dining chairs after he throws aside the now bent and dented shovel aside, smiling slightly as he hears it break a vase off to his right.

Wiping his forehead with his sleeve, Roxas sighs and rests his head against the cushioned back of the chair. He holds one ankle as he slowly relaxes. He gazes at the mess with immense satisfaction.

There's a knock that comes to his door and Roxas barely turns his head as he shouts, "What?!" his tone is sharp, and he doesn't bother to sound pleasant.

A muffled female's voice says something before he hears the door unlock and the knob turn. She steps into the room timidly, but her eyes widen and she gasps at the sight of the room. By the sight of it, it would seem Roxas had a vicious food fight with at least twenty mercenaries. She goes to pick up a fragment of a porcelain plate. "M-Master Roxas -"

"Just leave it!" he yells at her. "Leave it alone!"

She quickly drops the piece and scurries out of the room in a flurry of ruffle skirts. The moment she's gone, Roxas sighs and bangs his head against the back of the chair. Now she's afraid of him. Truly he didn't mean to snap at her, but his anger is still trying to boil down that he doesn't give regards to his actions or to the emotions of others.

He should get up and apologize, but by now she's probably already at the servants' rooms and crying to the other maids about how scary Roxas is. Plus, Roxas is tired and wants nothing more than to change out his clothes and crawl into bed.

Tiptoeing around the scattering of shards, Roxas makes it to the door and walks into the bedroom. Only then does he realize his predicament: How is he supposed to take off all of the wrappings one by one? Let alone put them all back on in the morning. Internally groaning, Roxas decides to start simple, taking off his black leather gloves and weapons. Just as he's about to start near his foot, there's another knock at the main door.

Sighing, Roxas assumes it'll be another maid come to check up on him, or a brave maid who's come to snap at Roxas and to make him apologize. Either way, Roxas tosses the gloves onto the end table and calls, "Come in."

The door opens, but the female doesn't come in. Instead it's a boy, a rather young boy; perhaps a year under Roxas.

He has spiky brown hair that pokes out in all directions, shaded in a rich caramel, and he bares eyes of crystalline blue that shimmer with a youthfulness that seems out of character for a boy of his age. He wears a modified version of the servants – a pale ecru tunic with long sleeves folded up a few times, and a dark pair of brown trousers and shoes; a purple sash crosses his waist, tying off in a knot on his side. His body seems well nourished, if a little too skinny from lack of manual labor other than scrubbing tables and wiping glass windows. Around his neck is a necklace with a silver crown pendant.

He carefully steps into the room and glances all around as if expecting an ambush. Roxas stands and simply stares at the boy. The boy stands perfectly still, his blue eyes wary as he takes in Roxas. Roxas offers a slight smile, and the boy steps closer, taking it as given permission to enter further. Tucked in his pocket is a simple white rag.

"I assume you're here as a sacrificial lamb for the others?" Roxas says as he ruffles his hair and sets his ebony dagger into the drawer of his end table.

The boy smiles slowly. When he speaks, his voice is low. "I guess I had a good life."

Roxas looks to him with narrowed eyebrows, but a small smile on his lips. "You only seem in your mid-teens."

"I said it was good, not long."

Roxas chuckles. "So what brings you here to be a servant of female assassins with little to no men around?"

"I was only hired recently, and then they sent me" – the boy jerks his head at the closed door as if the maids are right outside the door – "to try and talk to you since I'm a boy. Probably the most useful task I've been given all this time."

Roxas chuckles as he sits on the edge of the bed, folding his arms. "Well the mess is in there if you think you can handle it."

The boy holds up a hand to his chest and gives an exaggerated gasp to imitate shock. "How dare you! You dare to underestimate my cleaning prowess?! Sir, I am insulted!"

Roxas laughs, quickly covering his mouth with his hand as the boy brings his hand to his forehead in overly dramatic expression of hurt. "But before that, you spoke of how you haven't been here that long. May I ask how it is you came to be here?"

The boy glances up to the ceiling in thought as he hums. "Long story or short story?"

Roxas cocks his head in intrigued surprise. "Interesting. Very interesting. How about just how you got here? Perhaps if it's good enough I'll see if I care to know more."

The corner of the boy's mouth twitches upward. "I was brought here. Can't say it was against my will, but it was better than the life I had before." He summarizes.

Roxas raises his eyebrows. "Impressive. I am intrigued."

"I am honored." The boy bows low, his crown necklace dangling. When he rises, the chain clinks against his chest. "If you wish to know more, I'd be happy to tell you when I've finished cleaning the dining room."

"I'll be in bed by then." Roxas says. "How about you tell me while we both clean it together."

"Oh you don't have to do that -"

"The subject is not up for debate." Roxas interjects, holding up his hand to stop the boy's argument. "Now I recommend you go and retrieve as much supplies as you can carry, and we shall continue this conversation later."

Roxas smiles and the boy beams and nods. "Yes sir!"

"Please don't call me sir. I'm not yet of age for that title." The boy chuckles and goes for the door but pauses when Roxas calls out to him. "But before you go, what's your name?" Roxas asks.

The boy turns to him still smiling. "My name is Sora."


	19. Chapter 18

For the next two hours, Roxas helps Sora clean up the dining room. Sora had gone back down to the servants' quarters, bringing back up a broom and dustpan and two buckets – one of them filled with more rage, the other containing a mop. They filled up the buckets, keeping the mop in one while they keep the pile of rags on a clean dresser and dip them into the other bucket.

Roxas pried all of the knives and forks from the furniture while Sora cleans up the food stains from the table and floor and carpeting. Then after dumping the rags into the fire, and whatever silverware still usable into a whicker basket made for laundry, together Roxas and Sora begin to sweep and deposit the many shards of glass and porcelain into a silver tin reaching the height of Roxas' hip.

"So what is your story?" Roxas ask as he sweeps a small pile towards the dustpan while Sora is polishing the mantle of the fireplace.

"I was living in an orphanage before all of this." Sora answers. Roxas lifts his head, pausing his sweeping. Sora gives a small smile. "My parents were killed and I had no other relatives in the city."

"Where was this? In Traverse Town?"

"No, in the Destiny Isles."

Roxas' eyes widen. "Really? That's quite the travel."

"Arguably the most grueling thing out of all of this."

"So how did you get hired by the Faceless?"

"Through Kairi; you know, that girl with auburn hair." Sora says as he circles his index finger above his own hair. "I knew her before she joined up with them. We were best of friends, and we still are, though I don't really get to talk with her much anymore."

"Namine told me that they have blood connections to the Faceless." Roxas says as he sweeps up the glass, dumping the contents into the bin. "And that they were forced here."

"Yeah, parents killed and forced into the faction. I'm surprised she still manages to remain so chipper." Sora says, his stare going vacant as he flashes back to memories of his childhood."

"Has she changed at all since you've reunited?"

Sora pauses and turns to lean against the side of the fireplace. "Kairi and I were young when we first met. So we were, I want to say about eight years old. Maybe nine. And one day she just told me she was leaving and had to say goodbye. Years passed and we had little contact; letters arriving on holidays and the occasional birthday present. And uh yeah, she is different. She's obviously stronger now, faster. But also more, mature."

"Yeah well, killing people can do that to you." Roxas says as he moves aside a chair to stretch the broom under it.

There's a moment of silence, and Roxas fears he might've said something wrong, but then Sora says, "What was it like for you? To make your first kill?"

Roxas jerks his head up to the boy. "And why would you want to know that?"

Sora bites his bottom lip and Roxas can see his cheeks turn pink. "I mean, I know it probably isn't sane for me to ask, but I'm just curious. I've never experienced it -"

"Now do you want to." Roxas finishes.

"But you're the son of a Master Assassin. I assumed that that kind of thing was, desensitized to you." Sora says.

"The first kill is never easy. It's easier during practice. You would think that you'd be fine, but you never know what it looks like until it happens." Roxas says as he drops his gaze to the floor. "Sometimes I don't know what's scarier: The fact that I'm taking someone's life, or just how easy it can be. None of it really mattered until now."

"I've gotten word of your situation. But what changed?" Sora moves around to the other end of the table and dips his rag in the bucket.

Roxas runs his tongue across his teeth. He has to change the subject or he will surely break more things. "What do you think of the castle?"

To his surprise but pleasure, Sora lets it go. "It's the most foolish thing I've ever seen." He says, scanning the ceiling as if he can see through the stone and into the glass sections. "I'd sooner enter a castle made of sand."

Roxas laughs as he pulls out a small pile of a broken plate with the bristles of the broom. Sora wrings out the rag and goes over to the side of the table near Roxas' side. Once Roxas has cleaned up the glass, Sora kneels down and begins to scrub the floor.

"Agreed. I can't seem to grasp the idea that someone would be fine living in such an accommodation where you feel so exposed." Roxas says.

"Might as well just live in an open field. Or perhaps in a whorehouse since everyone knows what you're doing." Sora adds.

Once Roxas has swept the bits of glass into a corner, he and Sora move the table and chairs, and roll up the large rug leaning it against the wall. Roxas gives Sora the mop while he takes a clean rag from the stack and begins to wipe down the legs of the chairs and certain spots on the floor the mop can't reach.

After a moment of silence, Roxas wrings out the rag as he says, "So I assume that you and Maleek have a close bond considering your places in the palace?"

Sora snorts. "One would think. But I rarely ever speak to the assassins."

The notion strikes Roxas, and he tilts his head to the side. "Why? Are you even allowed to give a simple hello of acknowledgement?"

"We normally just step to the side and bow our heads." Sora says. "So I'm stuck with the gossip the other servants and maids unleash when in the privacy of the chambers. I don't talk much to them unless the conversation is interesting." Sora dunks the mop into his bucket and wrings out the ends, the water turning a sluggish grey.

"Sounds rather dull, and boring."

"You'd be surprised how many conversations can carry through a group of women. But yet, it is. They mostly talk bad about the girls while giggling and squealing over Maleek. But now it would seem you and your crewmen are the talk now. They act as if they've never seen so many men before in one place." Sora says.

"I'm sure my men will be pleased. I'm sure they've missed the touch of a woman. But I need to make sure that they're on their best behavior." Roxas rolls his eyes at the idea of having to handle the one hundred thirty-five men of his party; along with still trying to grasp the fact that his mother is alive and in charge of this whole faction.

"What's it like being an assassin?" Sora then asks.

Roxas pauses his wiping and looks up to Sora. Being on his hands and knees, Roxas can only crack his back and sigh as he flexes his hands. "Again, why do you wish to know?"

"Well," Sora nervously wrings the stick of the mop as he tries to think of a proper way to answer. "I know this'll sound weird, but I always kind of admired them."

"You find inspiration from someone who kills?"

"I mean not for the payment and the blood, but more rather their skill and abilities."

"How so?"

"I mean, I've seen the way the Faceless train. And watching them jump large gaps and survive drops that would normally seem like it could break their bones, let alone kill them; it's astonishing. I guess I just wish I could be that skilled." Sora admits. "Rooftop runs and flips in midair."

Roxas chuckles at the boy's genuine admiration at the acrobatics and combat that plays only a small part in the rank of assassin. "So basically you like it for the physical aspect of it."

"Exactly! I mean to watch them take down a group of guards singlehandedly! All those flips and combat moves and insane parkour skills. It's incredible; and better than talent I possess."

Roxas shrugs. "I suppose it is interesting, but it's never easy when starting out. I can't even count all of the scars I have." Roxas smiles as he sees Sora's reasoning.

"Women love scars." Sora assures.

He can admit that he liked that feeling of admiration and fascination of people around him who watch him fight and climb up the side of walls with only his hands and feet.

"Hey, can you show me something?!" Sora suddenly squeaks with enthusiasm.

"What?"

"Show me some moves!" Sora says with excitement.

"Now?"

"Why not?! We've got the open space!" Sora says. "Here."

Sora quickly casts aside the bucket and mop and brushes the pile of glass onto the dustpan. Roxas laughs as Sora takes the dirtied rag from him and tosses it into the other bucket. Sora then guides Roxas to the middle of the dining room and then runs off to stand in front of the door that is now at least thirty feet away. Sora faces Roxas with an eager face. Roxas still in his wrappings of the Faceless attire, only sighs but smiles as he sets his hands on his hips shaking his head.

"Come on! Show me something!" Sora says.

"What would you like to see?" Roxas asks.

"Ummm . . ." Sora taps his chin as he tries to think. "I don't know. Maybe just some uh, oh!" he quickly scrambles over to the broom and pulls of the bristle end. "Here, show me some staff moves!" he tosses the wooden stick at Roxas, who catches it with one hand and spins it a few times as he exchanges it from his right hand to his left.

Supposedly it could work. Roxas has worked with heavier staffs when in training. This one seems like it could barely crack a picture frame should it slip out of Roxas' grasp. Not that it would, of course.

"Show me how you fight with a staff, how to block and swipe -!" Sora stutters.

Roxas laughs as he hushes the boy. "Okay, okay, calm down. I'll show you what I can. I wouldn't want to disrupt your duties for a simple demonstration."

Roxas spins the staff in his hands and shows a few jabs and how to use the staff to block and swipe out the feet of your opponent. Sora sits, watching like a child laughing and smiling and applauding Roxas' skills and jabs. He keeps giving suggestions, of Roxas is admittedly happy to demonstrate, until the clock strikes ten o'clock at night.

Sora whines but submits to taking his leave. He helps Roxas move back all but the table into place; the table itself being declared too ruined to be usable. They dump the dirtied water down the drain and toss the rags into the one bucket, leaving the wrung out mop in the other. Roxas offers to help Sora in carrying back the supplies, but Sora assures he's fine.

"I'll try and find you tomorrow." Sora says as he leaves. Roxas holding the door open with his foot watches as the boy carries everything on his arms.

"Alright. Thanks for your help." Roxas nods.

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you?" Sora chuckles.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Roxas smiles.

Closing the door behind him, Roxas sighs. As he treks towards his bed, still scattered with the books he'd received from Madame Tifa, he looks once again into the dining hall and takes notice of the grand space is has without the table. The candelabrums are set on butlers clumping together while the rug spreads out over most of the floor. He could spar in there for now, but really a part of him wishes to leave the room as he's been in there long enough.

As he rummages through the top drawer of his dresser, Roxas can't help but wonder why it is he suddenly had grown so fond of Sora. He assumes it's because he's in the Faceless headquarters that he's being kind to all of members here; in fear that if he doesn't, they'll toss him out. But something is different about Sora.

Admitting it to himself, Sora did bare several similarities to Ventus. Spiky hair with a touch of gold laced within it. A charming smile and a spark in his eyes that can see the better side of nearly everything and everyone, and fill anyone with hope. His chipper personality can make even Roxas crack a smile in the darkest of times. It's like he is light.

The thought adds a pinch of pain to Roxas' chest, and suddenly Roxas claps a hand over his mouth as his throat tightens and the world smears into colors. Roxas grabs his stomach and sits on a divan at the end of his bed and hiccups as his throat grows tight. Tears swell in his eyes and he can see it.

Ventus is kneeling on the floor in front of him, hands bound behind his back. Roxas had closed this door the moment he had fled the city; hoping that it would stay there, but the door opens wide and it brings forth the dark images.

Ventus has tears in his eyes and a smile on his face. He takes deep breaths as he lifts his head. "_It's okay, Roxas_."

Roxas shakes his head, gripping his hair so hard his follicles scream and a pounding headache turns his face pink.

"_I forgive you_."

Roxas grits his teeth so hard they might crack.

"_I forgive you. Now do it_."

"No."

"_I forgive you_."

"No!" Roxas clutches his middle and begins to rock himself back and forth, gasping for breath. Almost immediately Roxas is gasping for breath, trying to make use of the open space that seems deprived of oxygen. His hands begin shaking and Roxas grips his biceps, digging his nails into his skin; somehow thinking that if he can feel pain, he can somehow get back to reality.

Ventus lies in a pool of his own blood, a stream of which slides down Roxas' blade, pooling into his palm.

Nausea clenches Roxas' stomach. He coughs.

He thinks back to his breakdown in the woods, but Vanitas isn't here to help him. Roxas tries to remember the pressure of Vanitas' chest pressing into his back with slow, deep breaths. In a matter of long, enduring minutes, Roxas manages to slow his breathing all on his own, still rocking himself with his toes and inhaling heavily but slowly.

Now even the spacious chamber seems too small. Without Sora's company, it seems rather pointless to stay all alone. Finally once Roxas breathing is normal, his heartbeat steady, Roxas carefully angles his head upwards to ensure no nausea and limps to his end table and gulps down a glass of water brought up by one of the servants for lunch.

Savoring every drop and fisting his hands to steady his still slightly shaking hands, Roxas decides to focus his mind on other things to distract his thoughts. The next half hour is spent unbinding himself like a present and placing the purple and black wrappings in the second drawer of his dresser. Maybe Axel is still awake . . .

Axel!

Roxas hadn't bothered to speak or check on Axel now that they both know Roxas' mother is alive, and possibly holding a grudge. Grabbing a pair of indoor shoes, Roxas slips them on his feet and carefully opens his door. Peeking his out into the hall, he doesn't see any guards, no sound of footsteps. Asking Sora if he's been to Axel's room and where it is would've been a good idea before he left.

Stepping out onto the carpet, Roxas gingerly closes his door. He decides to follow his instinct and heads down the right end of the hall. Tifa said that the men had all been given individual rooms. If they are anything like Roxas', hopefully one of these giant doors is bound to lead somewhere.

Axel sits on his bed, back pressed to the headboard and his knees bent. He keeps his pistol close, tucked under his pillow, while he holds his dagger in his hand. Too tired to walk around the hallways, but too awake to sleep, he just stares at the crackling fire. Every bump and footstep makes him jolt.

Tifa is alive. This can and it will most likely will, go badly. Axel doesn't doubt that Tifa will try and get back at Axel for what he did. Even if she used it as a part of her plan, Axel doesn't think that it discards for him nearly killing her. An apology won't be enough. The only thing that most likely keeps her away is the fact that Roxas likes him. In a way, Axel is using Roxas for his own protection. It sounds cruel enough, but at least it's not really intentional.

The hair on Axel's arms rise, and he grabs a fur blanket from his bed to wrap around himself. Perhaps if he were to show that he's as sorry as she will be able to forgive, maybe if he can confide to Roxas his concern perhaps he will say something to her. But Roxas doesn't seem like he's accepted the fact that she is his mother, and Axel can't bring himself to ask Roxas of such a favor. He'd probably mock Axel for cowering against his mother, but then again Roxas seemed just as intimidated by her as Axel did.

Axel sighs as he rests his head against his knee, listening to the clock _tick-tick-tick._ There's a knock on his door and Axel spazzes in his bed, bringing up his knife, his other hand going to reach under his pillow.

"Who's there?!" he calls, his tone sounding more aggressive than he intended.

"Room service. Who do you think?" Roxas' voice calls through.

Axel hops off the bed and jogs towards the door where he opens it ajar to find the blonde haired boy standing outside in a nightshirt too big for him and loose pants that stop just above his knees.

Axel can't help the smile on his lips, but has to restrain from pulling Roxas in and pinning him against the door. "Well this is a pleasant surprise."

"May I come in?"

"I'd be insulted if you didn't." Roxas steps inside and Axel closes the door behind him. "I've been meaning to ask you, how've you been?"

Roxas continues on a path towards a chair posted in front of the fireplace. "To say things are complicated is a complete understatement." He plops into the couch and sighs.

"It was quite the shock to all of us." Axel says as he saunters over.

"And how have you been taking it?"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried."

"I can see that." Roxas says as he reaches up and takes Axel's dagger still in his hand. Roxas twirls it between his fingers. "You really think she'd try to kill you?"

"Unless you think she'll be as forgiving as your father."

"You can't really compare them, Axel. And besides, she did use it for her own nefarious purposes."

"Still, I can't help but feel like she hates me."

"Why would she? You've only just met."

"Probably because she's knows I've taken her son." Axel grins. Roxas gives him a fixated stare and rolls his eyes. "But seriously, women can hold grudges."

"I just don't think she would. I mean she used it to her advantage, and you were drunk. People deal with it all the time."

Axel shrugs. "I can't really blame her if she does hate me. Not like I don't deserve it."

"Axel."

"I stabbed her, Roxas. You were upset with me, not even upset, you hated me when I told you that I thought I had killed your mother."

"Axel," Roxas takes Axel's wrist and tugs him down to sit with him. "Take my advise; I've taken my sharing of stabs. Yeah I get mad and I curse their name to no intent, but I don't go hunting down for them. Not unless they're a part of a contract. But I'll keep my eye out."

"I would ask you not to, but you know this field better than I do." Axel coldly chuckles.

"I won't let her do anything to you." Roxas, still holding Axel's hand, gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"As will I." Axel smiles. He brings Roxas' hand to his lips. His mouth is soft and smooth upon Roxas' skin, and the kiss sends a red-hot line of fire up through his arm that singes Roxas' cheeks.

He takes Roxas' chin, turns his head slightly to the side, and leans in. He places a kiss at the corner of Roxas' mouth. Then he leans in deeper, placing his lips under Roxas' ear. Roxas presses his cheek into Axel's, and Axel softly kisses gently, trailing down Roxas neck. The sensation sends a shiver across Roxas skin.

Roxas arches his head back and lets out a breath moan. Axel retreats and then kisses Roxas straight on the lips; none of them gentle. Axel's tongue glides into Roxas' mouth, flicking against Roxas' at first, then the two teasingly tempting the other. Roxas break away, then nibbles on Axel's bottom lip. Axel growls and leans over more, leaning Roxas down on his back on the couch. Axel glides over him, straddling the innocent blonde's hips.

Axel kisses Roxas' Adam's apple, and starts to kiss down to his collarbone. Roxas bends his knees as Axel grips his wrists, not pinning, but holding him down. The restraint leaves Roxas no other way, but to press against Axel's frame to fight the burning urge that courses through him whenever Axel's lips contact his skin. As Axel reaches the base of his chest, Roxas shudders when he feels Axel's hand slide under his shirt, and trace his V-line. Roxas takes Axel's hair and guides him back to his lips, where they kiss once again.

The unbelievable heat burning through Roxas was incredible. He'd never felt this much, passion for someone. He wanted more. While the thought of experience Axel has leaves Roxas discouraged, he wanted Axel. To feel him, to taste him, to have his hand cast along his muscular frame.

Roxas breaks them apart, then tilts up to bite on Axel's earlobe. "You're killing me boy." Axel mouths, and Roxas smiles. "I want you so bad."

Roxas gasps when he feels Axel's hand palm his chest. His head is pounding, the blood roaring in his ears. Axel's hand suddenly flees from Roxas' chest, living him shivering, but it snakes its way under Roxas' back and lifts him from the couch. Roxas' eyes flutter open as he sees Axel shift so Roxas is straddling him. Roxas now of higher level, kisses Axel's forehead. Axel kisses at Roxas' collarbone, then lightly sucks on his skin. Roxas shudders, entangling his fingers in Axel's hair. Roxas lets out a breath of pleasure as Axel starts to trace along his shoulder.

Hes couldn't believe how much he wanted to touch Axel, for Axel to touch him. Both of Axel's hands snake under Roxas' borrowed shirt and ghost along his spine, bracing against his shoulder blade area. One hand flows back to Roxas' abs, slowly lifting the fabric up while the two constantly kiss each other.

Gripping Axel's hair, Roxas pulls him closer wanting to taste every inch of him. He just loved kissing him so much. He loved the way Axel growled whenever he bit on his lip. And when he did this time, Axel suddenly rose from the couch, gripping the back of Roxas' thighs. Roxas had no choice but to coil his legs around Axel's waist as he blindly made the trek to the bedroom. It's like something had awaken inside him. The next thing Roxas felt was the soft sheets of the bed. Axel crawls over him, trapping the blue-eyed blonde between his legs.

"Axel." Roxas breathes.

Axel grips his wrists, and kisses him, his tongue fiercely fighting at Roxas'. Roxas whimpers, but he loved it. A new dominant side of Axel he'd never seen, but the nagging feeling of regret hovering at the back of his head.

For once, it excites Roxas on Axel's domineering trait now. Only with Axel does he like – does he enjoy – feeling powerless and weak. Axel slides his hands along Roxas' arms, while rocking his hips back and forth. Roxas groans aloud as the feeling sends a shot of pleasure through him, the room of his oversized pajama pants growing thin. Axel leans down and kisses Roxas' lips gently, then he sucks at his lower lip.

"I want to bite this lip." Axel murmurs against Roxas' mouth, and carefully he tugs at it with his teeth.

Roxas moans and Axel smiles. His lips are demanding and firm, molding Roxas'. Axel grabs Roxas' hips and runs his tongue around Roxas' naval, then gently nips his way down to Roxas hipbone, across his belly to his other hipbone. Kissing across Roxas' torso, he trails kisses up his belly. Roxas skin is burning. He's flushed, too hot, too cold and he's clawing at the bed sheets beneath him. Roxas groans, feeling the sweet sensation all the way to his groin.

"Axel . . ." Roxas begs. He pulls his head back, his mouth open as he groans.

Axel kisses him deeply, his tongue in the young blonde's mouth absorbing his cries. When they break, Axel kisses Roxas' cheek.

"Axel."

Roxas takes Axel's hair and tilt his head to look up to him. He watched as Axel's eyes suddenly lightened to the familiar compassion he gotten used to. The dark predatory gleam deteriorating. Roxas was breathing heavy and Axel, now propped on his elbows - was just huffing. He presses their foreheads together, Axel smiles, and Roxas shyly returns it. Axel rests his head next to Roxas', nuzzling their cheeks. His lips hovering just above Roxas' ear.

"I'm sorry." Axel whispers. This surprises Roxas, but at the same time sends a shiver down his spine "I guess I can't control myself around you."

Roxas gently pecks his lips and presses their foreheads together. Axel rolls off and onto his side of the bed, flicking on the lamp. Roxas rolls on his side, the slowly pushes himself to a sitting position. His body was trembling. He tried to stand, but had to plop back down.

Behind him, he hears Axel chuckle. Axel smiles and pats his bed, "You can sleep with me tonight. This bed is far too big to be sleeping alone."

Roxas is hesitant, biting his lip in debate, nervously rubbing his arm. Roxas did not want to go back to his room alone, and Axel did look nice with a loose fitting, black V-neck and simple pants. But what if someone was to visit his chambers in the morning? Just as he was about to decline, as if his body is against him, he suddenly feels his knees buckle underneath him. Expecting to feel the fuzzy texture of the carpet, he feels an arm around his shoulder. His eyes flutter open and he sees the red of Axel's hair, and a look of amusement in his eyes.

"You sure do crash bad." He says when he sees Roxas grip onto the material of his shirt. The worry diminishing once he sees Roxas is just tired.

Roxas cuddles into the warmth of his arms as Axel lifts him from the floor. Roxas' arm drifted up to wrap around his neck. Roxas hooks his index finger into the neck of Axel's t-shirt, tugging it down a little so he could place a kiss at the base of his neck. Axel quietly chuckles.

Pulling aside the comforter and the under sheet, Axel gently places Roxas down on one side of the bed. Roxas buries his head into the plush pillow. The small child inside of him smiles as he feels Axel pull the comforter over him. Roxas remembers that feeling when a maid would tuck him in. Axel tucks it under his sides and places a kiss on Roxas' temple before Roxas hears him walk around to his side, and climb into bed. Roxas blinks slowly before his eyes flutter shut. His skin still faintly tingling from where Axel touched.


	20. Chapter 19

Roxas waits until Axel has fallen asleep before wriggling his way out the sheets and slipping out of Axel's room undisturbed. He feels as if he's barely closed his eyes when a hand jabs his side. Roxas groans, wincing as the drapes are thrown back to welcome the morning sun.

"Wake up." Not surprisingly, it is Maleek.

Roxas shimmies beneath the blankets, pulling them over his head, but Maleek grabs the covers and throws them to the floor. Roxas' night trousers are hiked up to his thighs. Roxas shivers.

"It's cold." Roxas moans, holding his knees to his body. He doesn't care that he has to go and prove his worth to the Faceless – he needs _sleep_. It would be nice if the Faceless had considered inviting him in earlier so that he can have _some_ time to regain his strength; how long was he on the road anyway? Added on to the two to three months from when he had fled from Twilight Town . . .

"Get up." Maleek rips the pillow form beneath Roxas' head. "Now you're wasting my time." If he notices how much skin Roxas is showing, he doesn't care.

Grumbling, Roxas slithers to the edge of the bed, dangling a hand over the edge to touch the floor. "Fetch my slippers," Roxas mumbles. "The floor's like ice."

Maleek growls, but Roxas ignores him as he gets to his feet. Roxas staggers and slouches into the dining room, where an enormous breakfast lies on the table. Maleek jerks his chin towards the food. "Eat up. We can start your training in an hour."

Whatever nerves Roxas feels, he keeps them hidden from Maleek as he gives an exaggerated sigh and collapses into a chair with the grace of a large beast. Roxas scans the table. Surprisingly, there are plenty of knives. Still Roxas stabs his fork into a piece of sausage.

From the doorway, Maleek asks, "Why, might I ask, are you so tired?"

Despite a hitch in his throat, Roxas gulps down the rest of his pomegranate juice and wipes his mouth on a napkin. He can feel his cheeks warm at the thought of what almost happened with Axel, and keeps his face away from Maleek. "I was up until four reading." Roxas says. "I sent a letter to your esteemed Mistress, asking for permission to borrow books from the library. She granted my wish, and sent seven books from her _personal_ library that I'm commanded to read."

Maleek shakes his head in disbelief. "It isn't your place to write to the Mistress."

Roxas gives him a simpering smile and takes a bite of ham. "She could have ignored the letter. And besides, I'm her _son_. Not everyone feels obligated to be as rude to me as you do."

"You haven't even come to accepting her as your mother. If you had, we would know about it."

"How?" Roxas waves a hand. "Don't answer that, I don't care." He spoons porridge into his mouth, finds it to be bland, and scoops four heaping mounds of brown sugar into the grey mess.

"Hurry up." Maleek grumbles.

Roxas pushes aside his bowl of porridge. "I should get dressed, then. Just what sort of activities might I expect? So I can dress accordingly?"

"It doesn't matter, you'll be wearing the wrappings." Maleek answers. "And besides, no one gives a damn about your clothes."

"Always such pleasant talk when it comes to you, Maleek." Roxas says. He goes to the dressing room, unceremoniously stripping down to his underclothes and enjoying it far too much when Maleek's cheeks redden before he turns away.

A few minutes later, Roxas is hurrying after Maleek into the foyer. Leaving his weapons hidden well in his bedroom, Roxas almost feels lighter without the armaments. "I need to know how you all manage to skillfully wrap yourself on a daily basis."

"It takes practice. Or a magic incantation." Maleek flings the door open to the hall. "If you ever feel uncomfortable you can take them off in my chambers. I'd be more than happy to see you in your undergarments when we're alone." Roxas swears violently under his breath, pulling his purple velvet cloak tight around himself, and trails after Maleek.

"Are any of my men going to train with us?" Roxas asks.

"I was going to ask you the same thing. They belong to you."

"They don't _belong_ to me. We may believe in the same purpose, but they are each individual minds. Though admittedly it does have its downfalls."

They travel through the halls, still freezing with early-morning chill, and they soon enter the barracks. Faceless trainees in various states of armor salute them. An open doorway reveals a large mess hall, where many of the trainees are just sitting down to breakfast.

Finally, Maleek stops somewhere on the ground floor. The giant rectangular room they enter is the size of the Grand Ballroom. Lined with pillars that support a mezzanine, the floor is checkered black-and-white, and the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that make up one entire wall are open, the gossamer curtains blowing in the chilly breeze that drifts from the garden. Already the official members of the Faceless are scattered throughout the room, sparring with Roxas men. Even though there are no guards, Roxas knows they are being carefully monitored. None bother to look at Roxas save for Namine and Kairi, who each give him a half smile before returning to firing arrows at the targets across the room with unnerving accuracy. Roxas lifts his chin and surveys the rack of weapons. "You expect me to use a mace an hour after sunrise?"

"If you try anything foolish," Maleek says. "we'll be here."

"I'm just a runaway, remember?" Roxas approaches the rack. Foolish, foolish decision to leave all these weapons out. Swords, sword-breakers, axes, bows, pikes, hunting daggers, maces, spears, throwing knives, wooden staves . . . While Roxas generally prefers the stealth of a dagger, he is familiar with every weapon here. He glances around the sparring room and hides his grimace. So are most of his men, it seems. As he inspects them, he catches a movement in the corner of his vision.

Axel enters the hall, flanked by Demyx and Luxord. He's achingly attractive in his navy blue tunic and brown trousers and boots. Roxas squares his shoulders as Axel strode straight towards him while Demyx and Luxord scatter amongst the others. Axel's thick lips part in a grin.

"Good morning," he says, his voice raspy and deep. "I missed you this morning. I woke up and you were gone."

Roxas gives a closed lip smile. "My apologies, dear Axel. But important matters came up and I was forced to return to my chambers." Roxas acts with an inflated accent.

"Not like it'd kill you to leave a note." Axel sexily snarls as he leans close to Roxas' ear with the intentions on nibbling it. "You look good in those tight wrappings." Roxas leans away and smirks as he stalks off leaving Axel biting his lip.

As Roxas makes his way towards Maleek, he passes by Paine, who lets out a laugh with the click of her tongue. "Id' have thought you'd be running home by now."

Roxas fights between a snarl and a wide smile. "The fun's just starting isn't it?"

It would have been so, so easy. _So_ easy to whirl and grab her by the neck and slam her face into the ground. Roxas doesn't even realize he is trembling with rage until Maleek steps into his line of vision. "Save it for your missions." He says softly, but not weakly.

"I'm going to kill her." Roxas breathes.

"No, you're not. If you want to shut her up, then beat her. She's just a cocky bitch – don't waste your strength on her."

Roxas rolls his eyes. "Thank you _so much_ for interfering on my behalf."

"You don't need me to rescue you."

"It still would have been nice."

"You can fight your own battles." Maleek points with his sword to the weapons rack. "Pick one." His eyes shine with the challenge as Roxas unties his cloak and tosses it behind him.

"I'm fighting you?" Roxas asks with a quirked eyebrow.

"I am your mentor, after all."

"Who said I needed one?"

"You wanted to learn our techniques remember? Or did you forget how badly I kicked your ass?"

Roxas snarls. "I was only holding back because I needed your help. If I had beaten you, you would have been too jealous to let me in."

"Let's just see if you can actually back up your swaggering."

He's shut Maleek up – in an unmarked grave for all eternity. But for now . . . Now he'd make Maleek eat his words.

All of their weapons were finely made, and glistens in the sunlight. Roxas eliminates his options one by one, seeing each weapon for what sort of damage he might do to Maleek's face.

His heart beats rapidly as he runs a finger across the blades and handles of each. He finds himself torn between the hunting daggers and a lovely rapier with an ornate bell-guard. He can cut out Maleek's heart from a safe distance with that.

The sword whines as Roxas draws it from the stand and holds it in his hands. It is a good blade – strong, smooth, light. Most people don't trust him enough to have a butter knife, but they give him access to _this_?

_Why not wear him down a bit_?

Maleek tosses his cape on top of Roxas', his toned body flexing through the dark threads of his wrappings. He draws his sword. "On your guard!" he moves into defensive positions, and Roxas looks at him dully.

_Who do you think you are? What sort of person says, "On your guard"_?

"Aren't you going to how me the basics?" Roxas says with a coy smile, his sword dangling from one hand. Roxas rubs the hilt, his fingers contracting on the cool surface. "You did say that they teach different techniques."

"From the amount of killing that went on in your old town, I believe you can learn on the job."

"It takes years to learn, months if you're smart." Roxas says, his smile growing feral. "All I had to do was crack a man's head open or hurl an ax into his stomach." Roxas tries to ignore Axel's eyes as he knows he must be looking. "If you consider that sort of gracelessness _equal_ to swordsmanship . . . what sort of fighting do _you_ do, Maleek." Roxas puts a spare hand over his heart and closes his eyes for emphasis.

With a growl, Maleek lunges.

But Roxas has been waiting for some time now, and his eyes fly open as soon as Maleek's boots scrape against the ground. With a turn of his arm Roxas brings the sword into blocking position, with his legs bracing for the impact as steel strikes steel. The noise is strange, somehow more painful than receiving the blow, but Roxas thinks little of it when Maleek charges again and Roxas meets his weapon, parrying with ease. Roxas' arms ache as they are shaken from their slumber, but Roxas continues to deflect and parry.

Swordplay is like dancing – certain steps must be followed or else it will fall apart. Once he hears the beat, it all comes rushing back. The other members fade away into shadows and sunlight.

"Good." Maleek says through his teeth, blocking Roxas' thrust as he forces Maleek to take the defensive stance. Roxas' thighs burn. "Very good," he breathes. Maleek is pretty good himself – better than good, actually. Not that Roxas would tell him that.

With a clang, the two swords meet, and they press each other's blades. Roxas is stronger, and Maleek grunts at the force required to hold his sword against Roxas'. And, strong as he is, he is just as quick.

Roxas withdraws and feints, his feet jabbing and flexing on the floor with birdlike grace. Caught off-guard, Maleek only has time to deflect, his parry lost in his size.

Roxas surges forward, his arm coming down again and again, twisting and turning, loving the smooth ache within his shoulder as the blade slams against Maleek's. Roxas is moving fast – fast like a dancer in a temple ritual, fast like a snake in the desert, fast like water down the side of a mountain.

When was the last time he had a _good_ _fight_? It's almost disturbing how much Roxas missed the rush of battle, the feeling of the ringing of the blade reverberating through his bones, the shrieking of steel against steel.

Maleek keeps up, and Roxas allows him to advance before reclaiming the position. Maleek tries to catch Roxas unaware with a blow to the face, but Roxas' anger awake as his elbow snaps up and deflects, slamming into Maleek's fist and forcing it down.

"Something to remember when fighting me, Maleek." Roxas pants. The sun catches on his sapphire-blue eyes.

"Hmm?" Maleek grunts, lunging to deflect his newest attack.

"I don't lose." Roxas grins at Maleek, and before Maleek can comprehend the words, something cuts into his feet and –

Maleek has the sickening feeling of falling. He gasps as his spine collided with marble, the rapier flying from his hand. Roxas points his blade at Maleek's heart. "I win." Roxas smiles.

Maleek pushes himself onto his elbows. "You had to resort to tripping me. That's hardly winning at all."

"I'm not the one with the sword at my heart."

The sound of clashing weapons and labored breathing fills the air. Roxas flicks his eyes to the other Faceless, who are all in the middle of sparring. But still they cast their glances over at the two, the Faceless members' eyes widen and the men of Roxas' crew smiling widely. Roxas grins broadly at Maleek.

"Well, you have the skills." Maleek says as he pushes Roxas' blade aside, Roxas lowering his arm. "but some of your moves are still undisciplined."

Roxas smirks and clicks his tongue in annoyance. "That's never stopped me from killing before." Roxas spits.

Maleek chuckles at his agitation and cocks his head towards the rack. "I want to do something different. Maybe this way I can actually break a sweat."

"You'd be sweating if we were back in my chambers, fighting with a different kind of swords." Maleek grins.

"You'll be sweating when I skin you alive and squish your eyeballs beneath my feet." Roxas mutters, picking up the rapier.

"That's the spirit."

Roxas practically throws the sword into place, and draws the hunting knives without hesitation.

_My dear old friends_. A wicked smile spreads across his face.

Just as Roxas is about to launch himself and his knives at Maleek, his eyes flick behind Maleek's shoulder and finds a familiar figure standing beneath the mezzanine.

"Vanitas!" Roxas calls with excitement before he could stop himself. Despite the heat rushing his cheeks and the sudden attention he called from the crowd, Roxas sheaths his knives and jogs over to Vanitas. Taking casual steps towards him, Roxas can see he's wearing the purple and black wrappings of the Faceless.

Roxas nearly halts in his tracks at the surprising sight. He stares wide-eyed for a moment, of which he heard Vanitas laugh. "Don't look so surprised. You're not the only one with mad skills." As he steps closer, Roxas watches as a cloak of dark purple whispers against the floor. "Aren't you going to hug me?" Vanitas smiles.

Roxas forces a smile as he embraces Vanitas, more aware of the glances of Axel and Maleek. Wonder if Vanitas saw Roxas sparring? But Roxas doesn't really care as much as he has so many questions he wants to ask that he won't care what either of them think if Roxas gives Vanitas his full attention.

"When did they offer you a position?" Roxas asks.

"I don't know, I was going to ask you. I thought you recommended me."

Roxas jerks his head towards the sparring area and the weapons and they make their way back. "No. Nothing came up since, well . . . things didn't go to well with my assumed mother."

"Assumed?" They pause in front of the table where Vanitas divides his attention among the weapons.

"Yeah, I couldn't really come to acceptance with her being my mom." Roxas says as he folds his arms and leans his waist against the table. "Of course I'll have to."

"You shouldn't have to force yourself." Vanitas says, casting a glance at Roxas as he debates between a dagger and a short sword.

"Not like I have a choice."

"Roxas, you always have a choice."

"Not when it comes to the safety of my men." Roxas snaps. "When it comes to Axel."

Vanitas nods and gives a tight lipped expression. "Ah, he's a little paranoid?"

"To put it bluntly."

"And you want to befriend your mother to try and make sure she either doesn't plot or forgets to seek vengeance on Axel." Vanitas summarizes.

Roxas is silent, but nods, grateful that Vanitas is smart enough to piece the words together rather than having to voice it out loud.

"But . . ." Vanitas urges one, done being the translator and knowing there's something else.

"But, I can't bring myself to forgive her for what she did. Leaving me with Cloud, not turning back . . ."

"She had her reasons, I'm sure."

"She did, but . . . from the pain and suffering I went through." Roxas whispers with a snarl.

"It wasn't her fault."

"But she could've prevented it! She could've, saved me. Saved me from . . . this!"

Vanitas sheaths a short sword in the scabbard and loops it around his waist. Everyone has resumed sparring, but Maleek still stares at them only spinning and twirling his sword from hand to hand to seem occupied. Axel still gazes at them as well as he spars with Terra, who thankfully makes Axel pay for being distracted when in the middle of battle.

"Roxas," Vanitas softly speaks, turning his attention to find his ember eyes glowing with warmth; like the soft coals in a hearth after the fire has died. "Listen, I know you don't care much for the gods and prayers, but let me tell you something that I overheard while on a mission one day." Roxas stares blankly with his arms crossed, his expression neutral. "During one ceremony, the priest was preaching about forgiveness."

"I think I've heard this before."

"Just listen, obviously it's different if I thought it was interesting." Vanitas lightly punches Roxas' shoulder. Roxas sighs and shakes his head. "He said that forgiveness is not for them but more for you."

"How?"

"Because if you are angry, if you have all of this unforgiveness in your heart for a situation, it can sit inside of you and make you someone else." Roxas' heart sinks into his stomach. "Where do you think your rage comes from? It's your fuel. You hold onto that, and they still have control over you."

Roxas coldly scoffs, "So you're saying I should forgive him after _everything_ that he put me through? You know the, brutal training, the killing, the _poisoning_."

"Then think about this: Why do you think Ventus forgave you, before you . . ."

Roxas freezes up and the question takes by surprise s much he actually coughs a little. Or at least the cough is the result of a harsh gasp. Roxas focuses on the floor.

"Because he didn't want me to feel guilty." Roxas replies quietly.

"To relive you of the burden of feeling it." Vanitas rewords. "And you should do the same."

Roxas gives a breathy laugh. "I don't suppose my, mother put you up to this in exchange for being offered a place in the Faceless."

Vanitas snarls. "The fact that you consider me to be so easily swayed is insulting."

"Vanitas." Roxas groans in annoyance, only hoping that he was kidding with the insulted look. When Vanitas begins to walk away, Roxas grabs his wrist. The moment his fingers coil around the bump of bone, Roxas is tugged, the world swirls and he suddenly finds himself in Vanitas' arms, his cheek against Vanitas' chest.

Roxas shivers when he feels Vanitas whisper against his ear. His breath tickles the hairs in front of the ear. "It's your decision, Roxas. But you said yourself you didn't want to be controlled anymore."

When he releases Roxas, he gives a soft smile and strolls over to Demyx who was simply sparring with a dummy. Roxas watches a little more before he sighs and leans back against the table next to the rack of weapons. He's aware that he still needs to spar with Maleek, and forces himself to stride over towards him. Maleek doesn't ask questions only still keeping a glare on Vanitas who is now minding his own business.

"Hey." Roxas says as he taps the hilt against the side of Maleek's skull.

Maleek turns to him and jerks back in hyperbolic surprise "Oh, are you finally ready?"

"Just shut up and get into position." Roxas says.

Maleek only smirks as Roxas rounds to get into position, but someone stomps a spear on the round and calls the room to attention. Everyone instantly pauses and turns to face the mezzanine.

Tifa walks up, holding a bejeweled staff with what looks like a Faberge egg with extravagant jewels and gems. Her long black hair is braided back as she wears a white loose dress and three-plated gold torque covers much of her chest and neck. Bracelets of ivory and gold glimmer around her wrists, and prising dangling gold and jewels crowns her head.

"Your attention please." She speaks and everyone lowers their weapons. Roxas can't help but stare at her, decorated and powdered to mimic a goddess. She could pass to be a queen. Her eyes scan the crowd and when they land on Roxas, she gives him a slight smile. Roxas doesn't return it, instead he turns away and bows his head, averting his gaze. "For the group of new survivors, I have come to the decision to give you an initiation to see if you are capable of being a member of the Faceless. If you do not qualify, do not fret, for there will be a place for you here."

Roxas looks to her and swallows. He looks to Maleek. "What is this?"

Maleek stares at Tifa with narrowed brows and a confused look on his face. He shakes his head, but he doesn't seem too caught off guard. Perhaps this is just something she's doing for the sake of Roxas' survivors.

"You all have five minutes to put away your weapons and catch your breath. Then we're on a mandatory run to see how fit you are. Those of you who can't run the distance will be immediately disqualified. You'll still be given the proper training however, you won't be discarded onto any missions." Tifa then turns and walks away.

With that, everyone scatters, the Faceless members and rebel crew drifting toward one another, murmuring to each other about the tests and almost whining. Yuna and Rikku take the lead towards a door set across the other side of the room, and everyone else follows them. In a way, Roxas should thank her. They haven't had much action since the battle at the hill they blew up to lose Cloud. Surely they're itching for something to do, and hopefully this'll be motivational enough for them to get into shape. How badly are they? How bad is Roxas?

He's in enough shape that nothing can sneak up on him, mostly. And after the battle in Agrabah and the Town of Hallows Eve. Hunting with Vanitas and the fight on the hill seems like worthy enough test. But with battling Maleek, then again he did beat him in sparring. Guess he'll find out soon enough. Roxas can only hope that Vanitas and Axel are willing enough to make it.

His lungs burn and his legs are leaden, but he keeps running, keeps his position in the middle of the pack of his crew. The Faceless members follow them around the game park running ahead and leaving the crewmen in their dust. To their surprise, Roxas leads the pack, and is ten yards in front of the rest of them. How could he still be this fast?

The sound of crunching leaves and labored breathing fills the warm autumn air, and Roxas keeps his gaze on the damp and gleaming gold hair of Maleek in front of him. One step after another, one breath in, one breath out. Breathe – he has to remember to keep breathing.

Roxas turns a corner, heading north – back towards the castle. Like a flock of birds, they followed him. One step after another, never slowing down. Let them all watch, he doesn't care. He doesn't need to win the race to prove he was better – he was better without any kind of validation that the Faceless can give him. Truth be told, he was just so incredibly happy to be running and doing something again, this run almost feels like nothing. He feels disconnected as he's almost spacing out, but his body still steers itself properly. It's like, Roxas is overflowing with jubilant adrenaline that no amount of running can keep him contained and he can't seem to run out of energy.

Vanitas is ahead of the rebels, but lacks behind Roxas and the Faceless members. Axel misses a breath, and his knees wobble, but he keeps upright. The run would be over soon. Soon.

Roxas hadn't even dared to look behind him to see it any of his men have fallen. He can almost feel Tifa's eyes on him, though, watching to see just how much Cloud has taught him.

The trees part, revealing the field that lay between the game park and the stables. The end of the path. The aches then drift towards Roxas' attention. His head starts to spin, and he would have cursed at the stitch that lances through his side had he had any breath to do so. Roxas stays ahead.

He clears the trees. Roxas runs a few more feet, slowing his pace to cool down. Axel's only response is to keep his feet moving. Only a few yards left; a newfound source as he watches Maleek and Vanitas start to crowd around Roxas, who is barely even heaving for air as the rest of the crew. Years of training with Cloud has taught him the dangers of giving up too easily.

The light of the open field grows brighter and brighter as it approaches. Stars flash before his eyes, swarming in his vision. He has to stay in the middle. Then, he is through the trees, and the open field surrounds him in an explosion of space and grass and blue sky. The men in front of him slow to a stop. It was all he could do to keep from sinking to his knees, but he makes his legs slow, slow, slow, makes his feet walk, makes himself take breath after breath as the stars continue bursting before his eyes.

"Good." Maleek says, as he wipes his forehead with his wrapped hand and surveying whoever has returned first. "Get water. We've got more training after this."

Through the spots in his vision, Axel sees Roxas come up to him. Axel's feet move on their own accord towards him, then past, back to the woods. "Where are you going?" Roxas asks.

"I dropped a ring back there." Axel lies, doing his best to look scatterbrained. "Just give me a moment to find it." Without waiting for his approval, Axel enters the trees to the sneers and snickers of the other Faceless members, Demyx already vomiting and Luxord carefully patting his back. Vanitas brings over some water for Roxas, who still watches Axel carefully. From the approaching crashing noises, he knows another member is on his way out. Axel steps into the cover of the bushes, stumbling as the world becomes dark and light and tilted. He has barely sunk to his knees when he vomits.

He heaves and heaves until he has nothing left inside. On trembling limbs, Axel grapples onto a nearby tree and hauls himself upright again. He finds Maleek standing across the path, watching him with pursed lips.


	21. Chapter 20

It was lunchtime when the members are released for the day, and to say that Roxas was hungry would be a severe understatement. He is halfway through his meal, shoveling down meat and bread down his throat, when the dining room door opens. "What are you doing here?" he says through a mouthful.

"I heard you had some free time." says Sora, taking a seat at the table. Sora has changed his clothes and taken a bath. He pulls a platter of salmon towards him and piles it on his plate. Roxas makes a disgusted face, his nose crinkling. "You don't care for salmon?"

"I hate fish. I'd rather die than eat it."

"That's surprising." Sora says taking a bite.

"Why?"

"Because you seem like one."

Roxas opens his mouth to expose the ball of bread and beef that he is chewing. Sora shakes his head. "You might fight well, but you manners are a disgrace."

Roxas waits for Sora to mention Axel's earlier vomiting, but he doesn't continue. "I can act and talk like a gentleman, if it pleases me."

"Then I suggest that you begin to do so." After a pause, Sora asks. "How are you enjoying your temporary freedom?"

"Is that a snide remark or an honest question?"

Sora takes a bite of fish. "Whichever you like. But really, why would I make a remark? I'm not like Maleek."

The window reveals the afternoon sky, slightly pale, but still lovely. "I'm enjoying it for the most part. Especially now that I have books to read whenever I can't stand being locked up in here. And, at least Cloud doesn't know where to find me."

"You mean you _father_?"

Roxas shakes his head. "He's not my father. I'm not his son. I don't suppose you'd understand."

"On the contrary." Sora starts, and Roxas looks to him expecting to hear some backstory about his parents, but instead he says, "I might not have as much free time to read as you do, but that doesn't mean I love books any less."

Roxas chuckles, a little disappointed but doesn't force it. There's something about Sora's demeanor that seems questionable. He seems nervous to be here. Roxas bites into an apple it is tart, with a sweet, honey-like aftertaste. "Oh? And what books do you love?" Sora names a few, and Roxas blinks. "Well, those are god choices – for the most part. What others?" Roxas asks, and somehow, an hour flies by, carrying them on the wings of conversation. Suddenly the clock chimes one, and Sora rises.

"I'm to inform you that the afternoon is yours to spend in any way that you like."

"Where are you going?"

"To rest my limbs and my lungs.

"Yes, well, hopefully you'll read something of quality before I see you again."

Sora sniffs the air as he walks out of his room. "Hopefully you'll take a bath before I see _you_ again."

Sighing, Roxas calls to hi servants to draw his bath. An afternoon of reading on the balcony beckons.

The following dawn, Roxas' bedroom door opens, and a familiar stalking gait echoes through the room. Maleek stops short when he finds the blonde assassin dangling from the beam of the bedroom doorway, repeatedly hoisting himself up to touch his chin to the wooden bar. Sweat soaks Roxas' bare chest and runs in rivulets down his pale skin. He's been exercising for an hour already. His arms quiver as he lifts himself again.

Though he may be the best out of his own group, there is no reason to train like this. Even if every repetition makes his body scream for him to stop. Roxas isn't _that_ out of shape – after all, his weapons have been heavy. And it definitely has nothing to do with his fellow members competing against him in the race.

Roxas already ash an edge on them. He just needs it to be a bit sharper.

He doesn't pause his exercising as he smiles at Maleek, panting through his clenched teeth. To his surprise, Maleek smiles back.

By that afternoon, a vicious snowstorm arrives, and Roxas walks around the castle with Sora after he finishes training with the other members. Though they speak little, Roxas is glad to be out of his room, and it would seem that his wrappings are his new permanent uniform even when on and off duty. At least it's comfortable, and should any trouble arise, he'll be dressed appropriately.

Sora examines the assassin, and Roxas knows he's taking in his clothes, his gait, his posture – everything Roxas himself had observed about Sora already. Finally, Roxas can't help but give a breath of laugh. "What?"

"You just seem, not like them."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, beside you being better." Sora gives a playful jab of his elbow. "You're not like the other assassins."

Roxas can only manage a nod to the boy as they turn their attention to the hall ahead. "Well, since I seem different, perhaps you can tell me wrong, but you seem rather nervous to be around me. Does my reputation scare you that much?"

"Your reputation is part of the reason, but . . ."

"But . . ."

Sora pauses when they pass a large floor to ceiling window glass window. He peers out past the wall of the castle and out towards the village – no, past the village and out towards the mountain beyond.

"Sora?"

Something cold and bitter glitters in Sora's eyes. "Servants aren't allows to speak much with the members." he says.

"Why?"

"Level of superiority."

"That's ridiculous." Roxas scoffs. Which it is; even back at his mansion in Twilight Town, Roxas still had a mutual respect for his servants as did most of the other associates. Either that or they usually never paid much attention since that's all they saw them as, simple servants who do their job and keep quiet otherwise. Still Roxas wanted to make sure they knew they were acknowledged as well as their work.

In fact, Roxas was practically raised by the servants around the house while he was an infant up until he was out of his toddler years. He would follow them around and help around with their chores, then when Cloud found out he reprimanded the servants from it and only ordered them to do their job of caring for him and the members.

"What does Tifa have to fear in the acquaintance of servants and members?"

"Scandels?"

"With who? They're all women here."

"I think she meant with Maleek."

"Like he has no self control?" Sora sighs and they continue walking. Roxas follows after him, keeping his pace. "So if I may ask, what will happen?"

"I don't know, and I don't think I want to. I can only assume something that will even rattle your spine with fear." Sora says. "This is only recently upon the arrival of you and your men."

"Ah, but what's the harm of you?"

Sora shrugs. "Perhaps your preference of men over women?"

"I'm already spoken for, and not like I'd fall for you anyway."

"Wow, thanks." Sora snipes.

"Not like that, and don't pretend I meant it like that." Roxas says as he harshly rubs Sora's hair. "You know what I really meant."

"I don't believe I do." Sora says in a sarcastic tone. "I'm not smart like most assassins. Enlighten me." he says with a bat of his eyelashes.

Roxas rolls his eyes and smiles. "Truth be told, I'm surprised at how well we acquainted very quickly. You're actually one of the few people I feel comfortable around."

"Awww!" Sora claps his hands to his cheeks and gives an exaggerated smile. "You're so precious!"

"Shut up!" Roxas says as he shoves Sora. The two chuckle as they continue down the hall.

"Do you hunt?" Sora asks as he keeps his gaze on the rain splattered window.

"Yeah, though honestly I'm more of a reader."

"Huh, a scholar. Well I guess that's why you're separated from the rest of the others. Not many assassins are smart."

"Did you not just say how much you admire their photographic memories?"

"Don't act like you've never had that one teammate who just wanted to slice everything in sight." Sora smirks.

Roxas does remember; Seifer One and Two. "I suppose. You've got argument skills."

"If only I would shoot a bull's-eye from miles away." Sora says as he mimics pulling a bow string back and shooting an invisible arrow at a vase of roses set on a long hallway table. "That'd be cool."

Roxas sigh as he lets out a long sigh through his nose, and follows Sora's gaze to the window, as if he can see all the way back to Twilight Town. Suddenly, Sora grabs Roxas' hand and squeezes it. Sora's fingers are surprisingly callus – in all the spots where the hilt of a sword or dagger might rest.

"Can you teach me, Roxas?"

Roxas blinks at the request – feeling, despite himself, honored. "Um . . . well . . ."

"I know it's probably against our protocol, but I'm more than eager to learn. Please! I want to learn how to do all that cool roof leaping and sword fighting!"

"Sora, I -"

"Please!"

Roxas opens his mouth to respond, but when he blinks, the hallway vanishes and Sora's features alter so little, but enough to reveal Ventus' innocent face, brimming with laughter as Roxas has just flopped the boy on his back for the fifth time in a row. Roxas gasps and takes a step back, jerking his hand away from Sora's grip.

That's right. Roxas was mentoring Ventus to be a fighter, or better fighter. Before he . . . Roxas claps a hand over his mouth and leans against the wall. He stares at the carpeted floor as it flashes from wood to tile. Slowly, red splotches of blood creep in from the corner of his vision.

He starts to make awkward choking noises that have Sora hovering over him ready to catch Roxas should collapse or vomit. But Roxas steadies his breathing and carefully swallows gulp after gulp of air. Even when he manages to collect himself, he can't look Sora in the eye in fear of seeing Ventus staring back.

"Roxas?"

He cringes at how soft and ingenuous Sora's voice sounds. Sora gazes, despite Roxas' arrogance, he is clever, and relatively kind, and somewhat charming. But where is that writhing darkness? Why didn't it show itself so that Sora can be there and help him? Because he doesn't' want it? Because he's stubborn?

"I can't." Roxas quietly speaks.

"What?"

"I can't afford to." This is bad. Roxas can feel his stone walls starting to come up as the icy silence grows inside him and consumes the feeling of guilt and swallows the sharp pain of loss.

"But Roxas -"

"I just can't!" Roxas shouts and quickly leaps back and away as Sora was about to place his hands on Roxas' shoulders. He has to leave, now. Or else he will break down in tears or fury, and Sora doesn't deserve it, nor does he need to witness just how truly broken Roxas is.

Sora can see there is something great and deadly concealed within Roxas, and admittedly he didn't like it. Yet he doesn't fear it.

There's an unnerving silence that quickly grows between them as a rumble of thunder rattles the frame of the windows. Roxas peers over his shoulder to see Sora fidgeting with his fingers. A pain tugs at Roxas' chest.

"If you'll excuse me." Roxas callously says. He heads down the opposite end of the hall, careless of where he was going, but just wanting to get away from those eyes. Those sweet . . . chaste eyes; eyes that could see clear through Roxas' tough façade and lead right down to his hollowed out interior.

For a moment, Roxas can see why Tifa wouldn't want the servants close to her assassins. It only makes sense for that flash of seconds, because easily a part of Roxas wishes to have a friend like Sora . . . like Ventus. A beautiful ray of light that penetrates the darkness with a beam so powerful that it's the only thing that can crack the silence inside Roxas that blooms at his core, taking away all emotion and feeling.

He is a haughty, vulgar, utterly impertinent assassin. No one should see him as anything else.

Roxas can't afford them to.

His cape whispers against the carpet, causing a painful pinch of electrical shock on Roxas' fingertips as he touches the railing of the stairs. The clinking of his weapons quietly against his hips is all he hears.

As he passes by a mahogany vanity set near the grand staircase, he hears it. At first he assumes it's a mirage of the wind, but no, he hears it again. A whisper. It's soft, breathy and sends a chill down Roxas' spine.

Something brings Roxas' gaze up to the mirror as he approaches. He stops right in front of the mirror, gazing at it. His eyes flick around for a moment before another breath tickles his right ear. Roxas looks over and finds nothing, but feels odd relief when he sees a vase full of flowers, the petals wiggling from a small gust. Turning his head back, Roxas nearly screams, his hand shifting to his dagger when he looks back at the mirror.

He is beautiful beyond reckoning. His golden hair flows around his youthful face like a halo of sunlight. His eyes are crystal, sparkling blue, and his skin is white as alabaster. And he wears an outfit of all pure white; a golden sash around his waist.

"Ventus." the word is barely above a whisper, but Roxas can still hear the tremor in his voice.

The apparition only stares at him, the faintest smile on his lips. Roxas whirls around to look behind him, heart beating as he finds the space empty.

_This has to be a dream_.

Turning back at the mirror, he still finds Ventus there; surprising relief flooding his heart, tears brimming his eyes. Roxas hopes Ventus won't speak of what his heart refuses to remember, hopes that the angel won't mention what Roxas has spent so long trying to forget.

"You can't trust them." he says.

"What?"

"They're after you." Nausea creeps into Roxas' stomach. Why is he speaking in cryptic? Nothing good can come of this. "You didn't protect me."

Roxas finds himself at a loss for words. He can only stare, with mouth agape.

"You can't afford to be foolish." Ventus says. Roxas swallows. "Nothing good will come of this."

"What?"

"You can't afford to fail again."

Rage suddenly blooms at Roxas' core and he irrationally snarls at Ventus. How? Why?

"Let her in, but you mustn't trust . You can't he fooled."

"Shut up!"

Bringing his fist up, Roxas slams it into the mirror, shattering it to pieces and sending fissures cracking along his own reflection. Intoxicating pride and pleasure fuel through him as he feels the bits of glass bite into his knuckles. Small pieces drop onto the wood of the vanity. His breathing is ragged as he removes his shaking hand from the mirror.

The fissures spiderweb their way across the broken surface, crackling his reflection and dejecting his eyes from his cheek, his chin from his neck. He only finds himself looking back with an indignant expression.

His breath quivering, Roxas holds his hand as the pain starts to sing its way through his bones and stinging his skin. Warmth dribbles along his palm and he knows he is bleeding.

Almost frantically looking around the gigantic hallway, Roxas only finds it empty and silent.

In a burst of anticipating fear, Roxas bolts off down the hallway, navigating his way through the corridors so easily until he finds his bedroom. He hurries inside and bolts the door tight behind him. Without bothering to change out of his wrappings, Roxas throws himself onto the bed, hauling the sheets over his head.

Only does his heartbeat slow after two hours does he manage to close his eyes without seeing Ventus' angelic face and find sleep.

For the next four days, Roxas awakens before dawn to train in his room, using whatever he can to exercise – chairs, the doorway, even his billiards table and cue sticks. The balls make for remarkable balance tools. Around dawn, Maleek usually shows up for breakfast. Roxas doesn't expect Sora for a while, but after his encounter in the hall – of which he still hasn't told anyone yet – he misses having his company, and yes a little bit of his flattering remarks. After breakfast, Roxas and the men run through the game park, where Roxas keeps pace with all of the Faceless members. Maleek never says anything when some of Roxas' men double over, hands on their knees, and vomit up their breakfast, nor did he comment on the fact that Roxas can go farther and farther each day without stopping for breath.

Once they've finished their run, everyone trains in the open room. Until, that is, a handful of them collapse to the ground and cry that they are about to die from hunger and fatigue. Of which Roxas would clap his hand against his face and bow or shake his head in shame. The only members that seem to keep up with the training at all are Vanitas, Lexaeus and the former guild masters Terra, Cid and Leon. Thought Roxas shouldn't be too surprised. Most of Axel's men have never experienced such grueling training before, so this must be a brutal wakeup call as to out of shape they are compared to Roxas and the others. At least Axel seems to be trying.

At lessons, the knives remain Roxas' favorite, but a wooden staff becomes dear; naturally, it has to d with the fact that he can freely whack Maleek and not chop off an arm. Most of their training was just so make sure they actually know how to _use_ weapons. And while they are rough around the edges, they are decent with swords.

Since his last initial meeting with Sora, he hasn't seen or heard from the boy – not even chatter from other servants. He has half a mind to go down to the servants' quarters himself and speak with him since he doesn't want to translate a message through servant to servant. An apology is definitely in order, wanting to train him however is still debatable.

After his half hour of sword play with Maleek, of which Roxas won two of their three rounds, he wanders over to the archery station eager to lose his thoughts in the repetitive shooting.

There's a table lined with identical bows and arrows, and Roxas fits himself with one of appropriate draw-strength and a quiver of a dozen arrows. The giant circular targets are composed of five colored rings – yellow marking the center, with only a tiny black dot to make the bull's-eye. Each target gets smaller the father back it is placed, and because the room if so long, the final target is nearly seventy yards away.

Roxas runs his fingers along the smooth curve of his yew bow. Archery is one of the fist skills Cloud had taught him – a staple of any assassin's training. Two of the Faceless assassins, Namine and Aerith further prove it with easy, skilled shots. Though they don't hit the bull's-eyes, and their shots get sloppier the farther the target, Tifa certainly knows what she is teaching.

As he readies to take Namine's place behind a white line, sparing her a friendly smile, he finds Paine leaning her shoulder against the pillar closest to the station, a grin on her lips. Roxas doesn't return it.

"What, no "Hello?" Paine asks with sarcasm.

"Not like you'd be interested in conversing." Roxas says.

"Only if someone's interesting enough."

"I'm honored then."

Sensing something is going to erupt, Namine steps in between them, blocking Roxas' view of Paine. "So, Roxas, do you like archery?"

Roxas looks to her, the corners of his mouth tugging into a ghost of a smile. "It's fun. Helps to clear my mind."

"I'm eager to see you shoot." Aerith speaks. "If you can beat Maleek in a training battle, it'll be astonishing to watch."

"If he can back up his swaggering." Paine interjects.

"Paine," Namine warns.

Something sparks inside Roxas and his body grows strangely calm. Before Paine has a chance to make another snide comment, Roxas draws back the bow, the wood making a creaking noise, and fires.

Again, and again, and again, within the span of a few seconds.

And when the sound of his final shot stops echoing in the suddenly silent chamber, Roxas gives a grim smile as he watches Paine's expression shift, showing real human emotion. Five bull's-eyes. Though none of them had been on the black dot, one had one close though.

Footsteps approach the station, but Roxas keeps his head high as he readies his bow for another round. Roxas' can't help but fester the pride that buzzes through the back of his mind. He's killed men from longer shots than the farthest target. Clean shots too. Right through the throat.

Roxas pulls back the bow, the sore muscles aching with the effort. He shuts out the noise, shuts out movement, shuts out anything other than the sound of his breathing as his focus narrows on the first target. He takes a steady breath. As he exhales, he lets the arrow fly.

A bull's-eye.

An absolute bull's-eye.

Roxas pays his onlookers no heed as he nocks another arrow and fires at the second target. He aims for the black dot, which he hits with deadly precision. He could've made an entire circle of arrows, if he wanted to. And if he had enough ammunition.

Roxas gets another bull's-eye on the third target, the shaft lining perfectly in place of that little black dot. He does the same for the fourth target. Where he aims, the arrow meets its mark.

As he reaches for his last arrow, he hears one the members, Xigbar, snigger to one of the other members of the Faceless. Roxas clenches his bow tightly enough for the wood to groan, a smile playing his lips as he pulls back his final shot.

The target is a little more than a blur of color, so far back that its bull's-eye is a grain of sand in the vastness of the room. He can't see the dot in its center. His arms tremble as he pulls the string back a bit farther and fires.

The arrow hits the absolute center, obliterating the last black dot. Everyone is dead silent.

No one says anything to him when Roxas stalks away from the line and tosses his bow back onto the table. All of his crewmen are smiling. Roxas sighs and joins Zexion across the room at an alchemy section. He too has a smile of pride on his lips. The only satisfaction he has is seeing the look on Paine's face as he passed by her, feeling her pride shrivel in his shadow.

The only thing that concerns is precisely their reactions. If they didn't know Roxas was this good, or are surprised, what does that say about their training? Is it even worth his time if he is already ahead of the game by ninety miles? He had no idea Cloud's training was this advanced until now. The Faceless are claimed to be the best, and despite his fights with Maleek, if they are surprised by his shooting, how will they react to his creative kills if they ever get the opportunity to see them?

Roxas spends the rest of his time with Zexion, learning about the different types of spells that can be useful in battle and healing incantations. Roxas would've complied to Zexion about his lack of reading and interest in the library of the Faceless, but it would seem his interests has morphed into an interest in magic. Because when Roxas asks about a particular cloaking spell, Zexion leads him to a back corridor and into a room lined with bookshelves brimming with massive tomes and volumes and ancient scrolls. The room smells of old parchment and dusty leather as Zexion pulls hardback after hardback, reveling through more than six thousand pages of spells, charms and incantations.

By the time dinner comes, Roxas has already retreated back into his room where he immersed himself into more of the books he'd received from Tifa. Except it was hard to concentrate when he still has so much going on. Axel stopped by, of which Roxas eagerly let him into his chamber. With freshly new clothes to accompany his steaming warm bath, Roxas was grateful he doesn't reek of sweat and grime.

They now sit on Roxas' bed, Roxas leaning on Axel's shoulder as he reads through the pages of the third book of a series about divergence and the dangers it holds for the strong female protagonist. Axel rests his head on Roxas' and simply shuts his eyes.

Roxas hasn't spoken to Tifa since almost a week ago after her confession, not counting when she spoke to the members on the first day of official training. He still remembers Vanitas' words about forgiveness, and Roxas knows a part of him really wants to forgive her and have his mother back; as well as that shred of hope that he can somehow maintain a somewhat normal lifestyle, at least as normal as he can get. And yet . . . something in his gut, as well as Ventus' message seems to be holding him back.

Ventus mostly. Roxas hasn't seen nor heard of him since he stopped appearing in Roxas' dreams, of which the feeling is bittersweet. But his words were to, urgent, demanding. Still Roxas could easily rule out that he's seeing things because of his, post trauma; reminding himself he had thought he'd seen Ventus when he was speaking with Sora.

But this encounter seems so . . . real. Those flowers being his proof of showing that the breeze wasn't a conjuring of his imagination. And Ventus mentioned "her," who else than the leader of the Faceless, the Queen of the Underworld. Not every other member wouldn't qualify.

Yet it completely contradicts Vanitas and his whole speech on forgiveness. It would really be a lot easier to just brush the whole thing off as a mirage of his imagination, so that's what Roxas decides to do. So why can't he?

Frustrated, Roxas claps the book shut and chucks it across the bed, causing Axel to stir from his slumber and the book smacking into the end frame of the bed.

"Whoa," Axel groggily speaks as he rubs his eyes. "What's up?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit." Roxas leans his head on Axel's shoulders and feels him chuckle as he wraps an around the blonde. "Come on, tell me what's up." Roxas doesn't object as Axel laces his arms under Roxas' legs and hauls him over until Roxas is sitting in between Axel's legs, his head still resting on Axel's shoulders.

Axel's arms wrap around him and Roxas feels like he could just snuggle down into his warmth and forget about all his troubles in kisses and rough sex, and yet, but he doesn't. Perhaps talking might make things fall more into place.

"Well, it's about my . . . about Tifa." Roxas starts.

"Hmm, judging from your sudden change in title I can tell you're still debating over what to do."

"What about you? How are you, feeling?"

Axel shrugs. "I'm, coping I guess. I mean, I'm still a little, on edge, but it's getting to the point where I think you were right."

"Well that's a relief."

"And you?"

Roxas sighs as he angles his head to peer up at Axel; something about the shape of his jawline even seems attractive to Roxas now. "I'm trying to reach a decision with reason, but my feelings, like gut feelings, don't seem to agree."

"The heart and the mind are always at a struggle. I can't really tell you which to listen to, since it's your decision." Axel says.

"It's times like this I didn't have emotion, and just relied on logic." Roxas says as he folds his arms.

"Hey don't say that. Emotions are one of the things that make you human."

"It's also the cause of so much war and destruction." Roxas distantly says, picturing the flames enveloping Twilight Town.

"They're also what make me want to see you every day." Axel says, emphasizing his point by tilting up Roxas' chin and placing a soft kiss on his lips.

Roxas chuckles under the laugh and kisses back. When Axel pulls away, Roxas licks his own bottom lip. "Yes, I suppose there is that."

He averts his gaze momentarily and allows his emotion of forgiveness and what it could bring. While their lifestyle isn't the best, and while he doesn't expect his mother to make him breakfast in the morning and crafting a lunch before training lessons, he still sees her hugging him when he needs advice. He can picture the two of them sitting out on her balcony and talking about the best and worst books they've read, the two of them training together in the game park and learning a few new techniques.

The image is beautiful.

A smile makes its way onto Roxas' lips as he delves deeper. Then with a small flicker of hope and possible desperation, Roxas sits up and eases himself off the bed. Axel doesn't protest.

"Your mind's made up?" he asks.

Roxas glances over his shoulder. "If I have a chance to get my mother back, who am I to object?"

"You know I want you to be happy." Axel says. "And if you feel this is the right thing to do, then you should."

"Truth be told, I still don't know. But . . ."

"But you won't know until you try."

Roxas smiles as he turns and starts to head to his door. He opens it a crack and peeks back inside before leaving. "Uh, perhaps you should get to bed." Axel cocks and eyebrows. "Alone."

With Axel's grin and chuckle beaming his courage, Roxas turns down the hall and begins his trek.

Following by his memory of when Namine escorted him, Roxas steps left and into the hall of paintings. Following all the way down, he begins to feel the trademark symptoms of fear: sweaty palms, racing heart, tightness in his chest, dry mouth, a lump in his throat, difficulty breathing.

When he reaches the big oak doors, Roxas lifts his shaking hand and taps the wood with his knuckles. At first there's no answer, and Roxas thinks he may have tapped too lightly, but as he readies to knock again, he hears Tifa's dainty voice muffle through the wood.

"Come in." her voice chimes.

Roxas pushes open the door only enough for him to slip inside.

The room is only lit by the grand fireplace on the far back wall. It burns, casting a glossy look on all the silken fabrics on the couches. Roxas looks around and finds a weapon rack on the far left wall, next to a display case and bookshelf. Over on the right, he finds two large mahogany dressers and chests as well as another bookshelf with trinkets and odds and ends.

Tucked in the right corner is a gorgeously designed vanity with a gold outline done with the delicate design of feathers. There sits Tifa on a velvet red divan, combing through her black curly hair.

The curves of her body is accentuated from the silk red robs she wears. The neckline plunges down with black lace tracing along it, and there's a slit in the ankle long skirt that cuts its way up to her thigh. On her feet are high black heels. Her eyes flick from her own reflection to Roxas'. When it does, Roxas feels her heart skip a beat.

Her eyes still as piercing as ever, and Roxas can't get past the cold glare that's embedded within them. "Oh, Roxas." Her first word is quiet, but her eyes widen in surprise. "I didn't expect you."

"I apologize for the late intrusion."

"No, no, no. Please come in." she stammers.

Tifa motions a dainty hand in an inward circle. As if drawn by the motion, or as if it's reeling him in like a fish caught on a line, Roxas takes careful steps closer, one foot in front of the other.

"Glad to see you're getting to know you're way around." Tifa continues, her tone louder this time as she turns herself to face Roxas. "I trust you're finding your stay, adequate?"

"Better than anything I've lived in." Roxas blurts, his reaction making Tifa giggle.

"But, let's be honest, you didn't come here just to give me a goodnight kiss."

"No, I didn't."

"Then speak." She softly says with a small wave of her hand. She sits with her legs together, her hands on her knees and sitting up straight.

Roxas looks around and finds plenty of chairs in the room, but stays standing in fear that he might not be able to get back up should he sit. "I'm still upset by what you did to me, as a child. There is so much more that you could've done. But at the same time, I understand that, you didn't have a choice. It was a rather spit second decision on your freedom, and that all that you've gained, you've earned and deserve."

He sees Tifa swallows, her eyes starting to glimmer.

"And I'm hoping, that if you're willing to accept my apology about the unfair and impulsive insults I said, I want to give you a second chance. And maybe you, can give me a second chance."

"Roxas, you have no reason to apologize." Tifa rises from her seat, and it is here Roxas can see with her heels she has Roxas by a foot taller. "I was a coward. Cloud may be a monster, but he wouldn't hurt his own family -"

"Yes he would." Roxas interrupts. Roxas flashes back to when Cloud had him pinned to the table while injecting him with the serum that mimics the poisonous effect of mermaid venom. The hallucinations, his vomiting, his cries of mercy.

"Roxas," Tifa speaks to him, and Roxas realizes his gaze has averted and he has to turn his head to face her again. "Sweetheart?"

She reaches up an arm and carefully she extends out her hand; her fingers brushing along Roxas' jawline before cupping his cheek. He cringes upon reflex, waiting for her to pinch his ear, yank him to the ground and scream at him like Cloud did if he ever spoke out of turn. He can hear her sigh in anger.

"That bastard." She growls. "How dare he lay a hand on you! How dare he -!"

"Mother," Roxas suddenly blurts, silencing them both.

They stare at one another for a painful few seconds before Roxas clears his throat. "It's over. What happens in the past, it's in the past. You can't punish him for that now, just as I can't punish you."

Tifa gives a sympathetic smile, and strokes her fingertips over Roxas' temple, tucking a few strands of hair behind his ear. She sets her hand on Roxas' cheek, and he turns his face into it. Her wrist still smells of her perfume. "So, will you give me another chance?"

Roxas looks to her, and gives a small beam. "I'd like that. I'd like that very much, mother."

The dark mistress has tears in her eyes and she begins to laugh. Then her arms reach out and wrap around Roxas' neck. Roxas envelops her in his arms, taking in her sweet scent that he can only describe as reminding him of spring. She breathes heavily into the crown of his head and Roxas nuzzles next to her neck.

"I truly have missed you, mother." Roxas mutters. "I just never knew how much."

"As have I, my child. My beautiful child."

Tears sting his eyes as he hears her begin to sniffle and stroke the back of his head.

"My gosh, you must be, eighteen now?" She says as she pulls back quicker than Roxas would like.

"I'm actually nineteen now." Roxas smiles.

"Oh!"

"Yeah, my birthday was a month ago."

"What?! And you didn't have a proper celebration?"

"We were in the road from my father." Roxas laughs at his mother's surprised expression.

"Oh my goodness! We must throw you a celebration!" she grabs his shoulders and beams. "We can have your celebration right here!"

"Oh now, mom."Roxas chuckles.

"Of course we'll need to order a cake of your favorite flavor and of course we'll have to throw an immense party -"

"Mom . . ."

"And line up the tables with your favorite foods and -"

"Mom!" Roxas laughs as he takes his mother's arm. "It's fine. Really. I'm fine."

"But sweetheart."

"I promise." Roxas smiles.

Tifa pouts and tickles under Roxas' chin, then starts to fiddle with the spikes of his blonde hair. "I still think you deserve a celebration. Would information on your first case ease your decision on the matter?"

Roxas chuckles. "Well now I know where I get my stubbornness from."

"You get most of your best qualities from me." Tifa says with a flip of her raven black hair. "So, about the party and the mission."

Smiling, Roxas says. "Tell me about it tomorrow."

"Oh, very well. Now, it is quite late, and you need to get to bed young man."

He bursts into laughter. "Are you serious?"

"Of course! I have a lot of years of parenting to makeup." Tifa smiles.

"Which is why I think I deserve a tuck in goodnight. Perhaps even a bedtime story."

Something inside Roxas eases as he feels her wrap her arm around his shoulder. "Very well, and how about we add some milk and cookies to that?"

"Great minds think alike."


	22. Chapter 21

The next few days is a flurry of activity as Roxas' mother sends words to the servants to prepare the ballroom for Roxas' birthday celebration. The simple walk from the training rooms to his bed chamber has been altered has he has to constantly side step servants with armful of napkins, utensils, tablecloths, clothing and decorations varying in sizes. Roxas still has no idea what his mother plans exactly, but decides that for once, he'd like to be surprised.

As he makes his way through the halls, he's more eager to learn of his first official contract with the Faceless. It's disturbing just how excited he is to get back into the field of his knowledge, to be running along rooftops and ditching the guards. While it contradicts what Roxas is trying to accomplish of leaving behind that life, he misses the rush of it all. He just didn't realize how much until his mother had mentioned it as bribery for throwing him this birthday celebration.

"Roxas!" he then hears. Turning he finds Demyx jogging down the hallway in a pale blue tunic and brown trousers. Roxas smiles as he waits for his friend too catch up.

"Hey."

"Where've you been? I've been meaning to talk to you." Demyx huffs as he and Roxas start to walk together.

"I've been busy. Did something happen?" Roxas asks a little worried.

"No, no don't worry. But it's clear that things have been going well for you and your newly established mother." Demyx nudges Roxas with his elbow. "The entire castle is brimming with activity and I'm so damn excited!"

"Really?"

"Yes! They've closed off the ballroom for decorating, I can't even see what the theme is! And I heard that invitations have already been sent out -"

"Invitations?"

"Yeah, for guests. I heard your mother is throwing an extravagant masquerade ball." Demyx says with excitement.

"What? I didn't know about this." says Roxas.

"Oops, spoilers." Demyx says as he covers his mouth. "But hey at least it'll be fun!"

"I should go talk to her, she shouldn't be doing all of this." Roxas contemplates, immediately pivoting on his heels to head back to his mother's office.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait!" Demyx stops him by grabbing Roxas' wrist with both of his hands. "What are you doing?"

"I need to go speak with my mother, she shouldn't be using this much money for a birthday celebration."

"Aw, Roxas come on. Let her spoil you a little bit. You could use it." Demyx smiles as he pinches one of Roxas' cheeks. Roxas smacks it away and pouts. "It's so cute you so humble; well for an assassin."

"Haha."

"Seriously, though, didn't you ever have a birthday festivity when you were younger?" Demyx asks.

"_Only_ when I was younger. The year I reached my adolescence is when my father decided that gatherings were no longer instead. My only gifts were more lessons, longer lectures and the occasional change in armor." Roxas says as he allows Demyx to tug him back in the intended direction of his bed chambers.

"Well, what's wrong with letting your mother throw you an entire ball for your birthday? She's got the money."

"I suppose." Roxas says. Truth be told, he can't help but wonder if his mother is using the celebration as a form of gathering for her certain clients, and perhaps the theme of masquerade is a way for them to go unrecognizable when around other people of noble social standing. And honestly, Roxas was hoping it is be as big a celebration as Demyx is describing.

Demyx follows Roxas down towards his bedroom, and it isn't until the door comes into sight does Roxas ask, "If you looking for some nightly fun, I suggest going to the brothels."

"Oh gods, I wouldn't dream of it, you little dirtied-minded minx." Demyx scoffs with dramatic shock. "I just wanted to see how big your room is."

"You could've always visited."

"I was too lazy."

Roxas chuckles as he grabs the brass knob and lets them in. Past the foyer, Roxas chuckles as he hears Demyx's vocal reactions of astonishment and glances over his shoulders to find Demyx staring up at the high ceilings, turning in a circle and nearly losing balance.

"This is your room?!" Demyx exclaims.

He continues to follow Roxas into the bedroom where he finds Sora turning down the bed.

Roxas smiles. "Sora."

Perking his head up, Sora gives a smile as he finishes fluffing a pillow. "Evening Master Roxas."

"I thought I told you not you me that. Why so formal?"

"Seems only appropriate since the Mistress is holding a celebration for you." Sora replies, but Roxas feels uneasy at how he's avoiding eye contact with him. His focus is solely on the pillows and sheets in front of him, but Roxas knows he's not concentrating on his work.

"Sora, is something wrong?" Roxas asks, ignoring Demyx's breathes of wonderstruck.

"Everything is fine." Sora flatly answers. Something inside Roxas' stomach sinks.

"You're lying."

Quickly Sora places the pillow back by the headboard and sighs. "I'm simply busy and don't have time for idly chatter."

"Sora, did I do something wrong?" Roxas asks. Sora rounds the bed and grabs a basket with Roxas' dirty laundry. "Are you still upset about what I said?"

"No!" Sora snaps, surprising Roxas, but Sora quickly sighs and takes deep breathes as if to calm himself. This isn't good, why is he acting like he's being watched? "I'm just flustered with work because of the party, but I will try and see you when time permits."

With that Sora leaves with as much as a look back towards Roxas. The doors close and Roxas can't lift the uneasy feeling on his chest.

"What was that about?" Demyx gently asks as he keeps his gaze on the door.

"I wish I knew." Roxas says. "Granted we're not so close, but I thought it was enough that he didn't have to act like _that_."

"Perhaps he rally is busy and he's just stressed. Poor kid." Demyx suggests.

No. That's not the answer. There's something else, something beyond their little, spat over Roxas not wanting to train Sora. He has a good feeling it has to do with the fact that Sora mentioned how servants weren't allowed to speak with the members, and perhaps he was being watched. The thought makes Roxas' hands clench and he bites down on the inside of his cheek. He should do something, but after only reestablishing his relationship with his mother, it seems too soon for him to already be declaring requirements towards her.

"What are you going to do?" Demyx asks.

Roxas decides the best way to determine this hypothesis is to speak with Sora, as he said, when the time permits.

"Hey Demyx, why don't you go check out the music room?" Roxas lightly suggests, and Demyx seems too take the hint that the conversation is ending.

"You have a music room?!" Roxas can't help but give a small smile as he hears the clicking of Demyx boots, followed by his dramatic gasp at the sight of the instruments Roxas rarely puts into use. "Sweet Mother Teresa!"

With the snowstorm piling on his balcony, Roxas takes one of the books from this mother, of which Sora has neatly stacked on the end table, and makes his way towards the living room, and settles onto the couch.

Through the hours that pass, Demyx stays throughout and Roxas doesn't banish him from his room. It is actually quite nice to have Demyx' company as he seems to lose himself in his instruments similarly to how Roxas escapes into his books. Curled up on the couch across from him, Roxas takes a sip of tea. Demyx has taken acquaintance to a certain long-necked plucked string instrument with the neck being hollow and a spherical body shape more or less.

Savoring the warmth of the crackling fire, Roxas leans his head against the back of his couch and dangles his legs over the cushioned arm. The book placed in his lap, Roxas turns the page as he hears Demyx strum the instrument accompanied by a crescendo of notes. Then Demyx' gold pen flickers in the firelight as he scribbles the notes down onto the paper. Surprisingly Roxas found his reads to be much more indulging when he has such well orchestrated background music to accompany the fitting scenes in his book.

Everything seems tranquil until the door to his spacious suite opens and Roxas can hear the feet of familiar gait walk across the floor into the room. Demyx's head lifts and his eyebrows lift slightly.

"Do you do anything other than read?" says Maleek. He adjusts his position as Maleek takes a seat beside him.

Roxas sticks out his tongue. "Don't you have anything better to do than bothering me?"

Something dark flits across his eyes. "Well thanks to the servants scuttling around the entire complex I can't seem to get any alone time besides being cooped up in my room. And I figured if I'm to be confined, might as well make your life annoying as well." he adds as Roxas opens his mouth. Maleek points to the book in his lap. "I saw at lunch that you're reading _The Storm's Fire_, and I forgot to ask what you thought."

He'd really come to talk about a book when he could've been out already scouring the city for his latest target? "It's a bit dense." Roxas admits, holding up the brown volume in his lap. When Maleek didn't reply, Roxas asks, "Why are you really here?"

"I'm here to recruit you for the Mistress. She has a new mission for you. And I'm to escort you as a form of, observant."

"Since when do I need someone to observe me? I'm already skilled enough to beat you."

"It's just a precaution in case you mess up."

"Which I won't."

There's a ghost of a smile on Maleek's face as he watches the sky melt into a smear of tangerine. Demyx silently tunes the string of the instrument, wise to keep out of the conversation. Still, Roxas doesn't miss the small flick of his eyes towards Maleek before resuming their attention to the neck of the instrument.

"Personally I think it's just something to get you out of the castle while she prepares your party." Maleek says.

"Not that I wouldn't mind leaving. Though every room seems spaceious enough to hold an army, I can't stand being cooped up inside for too long."

Silence falls; then Demyx carefully sets aside his instrument before he asks. "I've been meaning to ask, Roxas, where did you get that scar on your right hand?" Roxas didn't need to glance at the jagged line that runs along the top of his hand, just above his wrist. Roxas flexes his fingers.

"When I was twelve, my father thought I wasn't nearly as skilled at swordplay with my left hand. So he gave me a choice: either he could break my right hand, or I could do it myself." The phantom memory of the blinding pain lances through his hand. "That night, I put my hand against a doorframe, and slammed the door shut on it. I split my hand wide open and broke two bones. It took months to heal – months during which I could only use my left hand."

He lifts his gaze to Demyx who has a pale expression of disturbance along his features. Maleek too it would seem has been taken aback by the intensity of the measures Cloud went to ensure Roxas was the best, at everything.

Roxas gives Maleek a vicious smile. "I bet your Mistress never did that to you."

"No," he says quietly. "No, she didn't." Maleek clears his throat and stands. "The Mistress says you can come at your earliest convenience in the late evening, though I wouldn't advise keeping her waiting."

"Of course."

"Also, there's a bit of a . . . situation." Maleek suddenly adds. Roxas lifts his head and Demyx follows.

"And what would that be?" Roxas asks.

Maleek's eyes flick left then right before he gives a sigh through his nose. "The journey is a bit, far, out of the kingdom."

Roxas feels a spark pop in his chest. "How far."

"A two days journey there and back."

"Seems a little sudden for not wanting a surprise to be spoiled. I'd imagine with so much staff that it would be done within the hours of a single day." Roxas says, his suspicion lacing his voice.

"I don't question her, Roxas. For obvious reasons." Maleek says.

"But I can."

"As said, it's your first mission; your first test. Would it make you feel better if I told you we all did something similar?"

Roxas' face softens. "Slightly. How similar though?"

"For us it was located in the city, but for you, I'm sure she wants to see how fast you can come and go, or something."

"Well that just instills me with confidence."

Maleek remains standing there for a moment longer, studying Roxas. "I'll see you then." He says, and leaves.

Moments later, Demyx returns from the music room, the instrument nowhere in sight. Roxas didn't even notice him go back inside. Demyx still doesn't say anything as he gathers his papers into his journal and claps the books shut. He still has a supple expression as he looks to Roxas and smiles. "I'll see you later."

Roxas nods. "I appreciate the company. You know you're free to some whenever you wish, given the appropriate time."

Demyx chuckles. "Thanks, and good luck on your mission." He rubs Roxas' head, disheveling his hair.

Roxas endures it instead of smacking his hand away. He watches as Demyx leaves, shutting the door behind him. In the silence that follows in his wake, Roxas contemplates the events that make him and Maleek so different, but so similar. Roxas tugs at the wrappings around his neck, feeling suddenly suffocated by them. He wraps his arms around himself, a cold wind picking up the cape of his cloak and blowing it in front of him.

It's around eight o'clock does Roxas decide to leave his room and meet Maleek in his mother's chambers; but not before he stops by Axel's room.

Roxas knocks on the door and it's a minute before the door opens and there's Axel with his spiky red hair deflated and drooping around his head. Roxas can't help but chuckle a little at the wrinkled shirt and loose pants signifying he might've just disturbed him from a nap.

"Good evening." Roxas smiles.

Axel returns the gesture and adjusts his hair as best he can and leans against the door. "And to what do I owe this visit?"

"I need to talk to you."

"About?"

"I'd prefer if we spoke inside."

Axel's eyebrows raise, his expression shows a slight bit of surprise and Roxas feels rather penitent that he'll have to dismiss Axel's suspicions. Still, Roxas holds his chin up as he steps inside and Axel closes the door behind, Roxas making note that he at least didn't lock it.

Roxas turns around, ready to tell him about his first mission, but as soon as he turns around, he feels his chin grasped by his fingers and their lips are together instantly. Instantly Roxas' thoughts are fuzzy and all he can focus on is the feeling of Axel's warmth that still radiates off him from hours of lying in between thick comforters and clean sheets. They kiss again and again as Roxas can feel Axel's arm warp around his back and pull him closer.

He should stop Axel, remind himself as to why he's really here . . .

But Axel just tastes so good. Roxas loves how his face feels after he's shaved; smooth but still not completely soft. There's an underlying roughness to it that Roxas likes to feel against the tips of his fingers and with his cheek while they kiss, a sensation like tempered sandpaper. Roxas breathes him in as Axel's mouth sought his, savoring the smell of his natural scent, untainted by cologne; musky and sharp all at once.

Still, as painfully as it is, Roxas forces himself to push against Axel's chest and take a step back before his hands can wander down to Roxas' tender bum.

"Axel." Roxas murmurs around his mouth. Axel grunts in reply. "I need to tell you something."

"Can't it wait?" he whispers. Roxas closes his eyes, clamping his lips shut, fighting the seduction.

"No, Axel!" Roxas squirms in his grasp, trying to sound stern, but he has to laugh at Axel's sneaky persistence. "Come on, it's important."

Axel sighs against Roxas' shoulder but finally stops his assault of kisses and submits to holding Roxas in his arms. Roxas' arms are atop his while Axel's enfold around Roxas' waist.

"My mother gave me my first mission." Roxas says, still maintaining a smile.

Axel's brows rise and his mouth slightly agapes. "Really? Already?"

"Yeah," Roxas can't shake the feeling of uneasiness as Axel's reaction wasn't what he expected. But then again, what did he expect; for Axel to be happy and lifting Roxas in the air with joy? It would be just like going out for Cloud and fulfilling a contract; but what makes this different is that Roxas is coming home to a parent that will reward him with appropriate praise rather than just details on how he could be better and faster. "Now I know it's sudden, and I don't expect you to be happy, which is fine. But -"

"I never said I wasn't happy."

"Yeah, but by the way you sound, it seems you're trying to force it."

"That's because I don't really know how to react."

"And that's fine," Roxas assures. "But that's not important, what is important is how long I'm going to be."

"How long can a contract be with you?"

"It's going to be a two days journey to and from the castle."

"What? Why?"

Roxas shrugs. "I don't know, my only assumption is that it's a test of my skill. Though not like she has room to doubt."

"But that means four days until you get back." Axel interjects. "A lot can happen in three days."

Roxas pauses, and knows what Axel means. "I know, and I'm aware of that, but you'll be fine. You're not still paranoid, are you?"

It's not meant to be an insult or a form of mockery, but something about Roxas' words seem to make his kernel of anger crack a little. "So what if I am? I have a right to be cautious. You of all people should know that it doesn't hurt to be watchful."

Axel's tone change perplexes Roxas. "Axel, I've told you things are fine now."

"Only between you and your mother. Roxas, you'll be gone for three to four days. That's a big enough window for her to take revenge, as well as think of a good enough cover up."

"So what, are you saying that you need me here to protect you?" Roxas suddenly snaps. "That you're using me as a shield to keep my mother away from you? The fact that you even think I'd be that gullible to believe that is just insulting. Do you need me to hold your hand, too?"

"I never said that, and I never said that you were gullible."

"But you're implying it."

"How can not at least understand a _little_ bit of my concern? Excuse me for thinking that I wouldn't be able to stand a chance against the Queen of the Underworld!" Axel shouts.

"You should at least have more confidence in yourself than that!" Roxas counters.

"A few days of training isn't going to be enough to stop her."

"How can you not just trust my word?"

"It's not you, it's just that I don't trust her and you shouldn't either."

"You're asking me not to trust my own mother? Do you not understand how ludicrous that sounds?"

"No! Because I thought a part of you still had enough common sense to think all of this through! What are you that desperate to have a parent love you?!"

Axel immediately regrets the words the moment they come out of his mouth.

He stares at Roxas who has a neutral face, blank as a canvas, and unreadable. Axel prepares himself for Roxas to strike him down, but nothing happens.

Instead, what happens is even worse.

Tears flow from Roxas' eyes, and his entire form goes rigid. Axel knows better than to think that the tears are just from pain or hurt.

Their core source is of anger.

Roxas fists his hands. "_I have been through hell for the past_ nineteen _years of my life. I have rarely ever experienced what it's like to have someone of bloodline_ love me _and_ see me _as more than just a weapon_! _I want to be treated like a human, not a weapon_!"

Axel swallows as he feels the anger in Roxas' voice. It's something that he's never heard before. It makes his bones crack and splinter, makes him feel the astonishing cold of the winter. And it takes all his strength not to flinch.

"_You are no different_!" Roxas seethes. "_You were the _one _person who I thought saw me different. But I guess I was wrong. You just want to use me as a simple shield from my mother because you are too much of a _coward_ to face her yourself_!"

Roxas bellows the word with such soul-deep hatred that Axel feels it like a punch to the stomach.

Roxas takes a step towards Axel, and Axel resists the urge to reach for his dagger. At least he still as enough trust in the boy to know he won't try to kill him. But still, when Roxas speaks, his words hurt more than any blade that could strike at Axel.

"You're nothing but a rotten old sea man who couldn't make a living in a normal society. You're scum fit the bottom of a ship. You. Are. _Pathetic_!"

With that, Roxas spits at Axel's foot and heads for the door in a whoosh of his cape. All he hears is the sound of the fabric whispering against the floor, followed by the harsh bang of the door being slammed shut. The sound echoes through the chamber, vibrating through Axel's bones until the entire place settles into a deadly silence.

Axel stares vacantly at the floor; the wood shining from the fire in the fireplace.

He collapses to his knees.

How did things change so quickly? Moments ago he was kissing this beautiful, broken boy with eyes that had the glimmer of faint hope still inside.

How could he have said that to a boy who barely had a relationship with his own father? Who has been deprived of love and affection for so many years?

Now, now Axel has unleashed a darkness that has long since been caged deep inside of Roxas; living just beneath his skin under lock and key. It's been scratching on the walls, in the closet, in the halls. And with the lethal nerve that Axel had struck, the beast has been unleashed.

Its teeth are razor sharp, and there's no escape for Axel. It wants his soul, it wants his heart.

What estranges Axel more is not the pain of the words Roxas had said, but the fact that he's practically given up on him. Roxas' voice and words echo in his mind. Axel can try and reason with himself about how he's right, but still, Roxas didn't deserve to hear that.

Or maybe he did? He didn't really deny it. Perhaps Roxas has flawed?

Axel can't seem to think straight as all he can do is see that hurt look on Roxas' face, a mixture of intense emotions: Betrayal, Hurt, Anger, Judgmental.

But most of all, heartbreak.

Something inside him seemed to snap, and Roxas looked no different than a porcelain vase rippling with thin fissures all across the surface, able to break at any moment.

And if Axel hadn't already broken him, he'd just chipped a huge chunk out of him.

A pain slowly grows in Axel's side, growing to be so sever he has to cutch his middle and moan in agony until he can dull it to a mere throb.

The whole time, Axel didn't realize he started to rock himself back and forth.

Still, the pain grows.


	23. Chapter 22

Roxas angrily walks down the hallway, his anger hot enough to set the entire crimson carpet beneath his feet aflame. The words still echo around inside his head, and his anger won't nor will it choose to relinquish. How could Axel have said those words? Had he not seen what Roxas has gone through? The torture of the serum? The abandonment of his father? Not to mention Roxas constantly busting his ass to ensure that the entire group of one hundred seventy five rebels has had plenty of food to eat, and tight enough security that they can actually sleep at nights.

Sighing, Roxas takes several deep breaths as he finds the double doors leading to his mother's office. He shouldn't walk in all flustered, it would only raise questions he isn't ready to answer.

Still, he has to admit that a part of him believes Axel is right. He can't be so easily trusting of Tifa just yet, even if she is his mother, she married Cloud for a reason; similar reasons such as the life of an assassin and thief, the riches of the Guilds. He shouldn't let his desperation for a family blind him to the possible deception he could so easily be woven in to.

He shakes his head to scramble his thinking as he approaches the double doors. Squaring his shoulders, Roxas knocks twice before he enters into the spacious office. Roxas enters, passing between two floor lamps on guard at the door. The giant crystal chandelier that hangs overhead glitters from the flames that are curtained behind it, and hangs by a single chain on the vaulted ceiling. It unnerves Roxas at thought of how easily it can snap and crash on everything.

The room has two sets of double doors on the far back wall that lead out to the same balcony, blocked off by thick dark green curtains. They flank the giant fireplace that stretches nearly the full length of the wall. In front of it is a large mahogany desk with two cushioned chairs in front of it. Bookshelves line the width of the walls, stuffed to the sides with endless tomes and volumes, giving the space a dusty parchment and warmed leather kind of smell. A large red rug sprawls over nearly the entire wooden floor under the furniture.

Roxas' mother sits behind the large desk with her chin delicately touching her index finger as she listens to Maleek, who stands in front of the desk and explains his plans. A third figure occupies one of the chairs, his hood up.

Shutting the door as least disruptive as he can, Roxas saunters over towards the desk. His mother's eyes find him instantly, a smile spreading on her lips. "Ah, Roxas, there you are."

Roxas bows low. "Hello mother." Roxas says. He gives Maleek a quick nod, Maleek smiles in return.

Coming up to the desk, he peers at the third figure, who looks up and smiles. It's glowing topaz eyes give him away.

"Vanitas?"

"Hello." He says with a twiddle of his fingers.

"What's going on?" Roxas asks as he takes a seat in the other chair.

"I'm joining you on your mission!" Vanitas says with a joyous rise of his arms.

"Really?"

Vanitas lowers his arms and pouts. "Wow, thanks for that load of happiness.

"No, no I'm fine with it, but why? I don't need it."

"Just like how you said you don't need an observer." Maleek smirks as he leans against the desk, placing a hand on his hip.

"Exactly."

"I apologize if you found this rather offensive." Tifa chimes in. "But as I'm sure you can understand, this is purely based on assessment."

"Not that I would need one if you had confidence in me."

"I do, Roxas. Believe me. But this is just to see how much your father has taught you, so we know where to at least start you off when training."

Roxas shrugs. "I suppose." He shifts in his seat, crossing his legs. "So who's my first target?"

As Tifa explains the contract, the target being a wealthy merchant who has long since "forgotten" to pay his dues for the protection of the Faceless, Roxas can't help but wonder why it is this man has decided against the tax since it would seem that the entire Traverse Town seems to love and adore the Faceless. But then again, a few dislikes makes no difference of the majority. Perhaps he simply doesn't agree, which would've been harmless had he not intentionally put off his payment.

He also can't help but feel relieved to have Vanitas along with him on the mission. Having his presence eases off the pressure slightly of having to try and impress Maleek. Plus after his fallout with Axel, he could the company even more so since there won't be any talking.

The Faceless uniform looks good on Vanitas, as his black hair seems to compliment it well. His black gloves are hidden under the wrappings, and his cloak pools out and around him, rippling with shadows that softly curl off his body like ink in water. He keeps his eyes locked firmly on Tifa as she explains, and Roxas feels a twinge of a smile.

After their meeting is adjourned, Tifa asks Roxas to stay behind, only to reveal a pair of nightly gauntlets. The metal gleams in the sunlight, and sets firmly on his forearms. She explains that the metal was simple steel until enchanted with a spell by Zexion that makes it impenetrable and unbreakable. Roxas thanks his mother, and after she gives a kiss goodbye on his cheek and last words of caution, he follows Maleek and Vanitas out of the study.

Maleek leads the boys through the long hallways, Roxas casting his eyes out of the tall windows that display the city against the twilight of the sky. He makes note of his close he walks with Vanitas, their arms brushing one another, yet neither of them step away.

As they turn a corner to reveal the grand staircase, the vanity of which Roxas shattered the mirror is gone. Vanitas has descended the first stairs when he spots movement of brown spiky hair.

"Sora!" he calls instantly.

The boy stops, taking a couple steps back, leaning out from behind one of the pillars with wide eyes at attention. Roxas smiles as he jogs his way up towards the boy, who adjusts the whicker basket of clothes to his hip.

"Hello Roxas." Sora greets with a low bow.

Roxas resists the urge to yank him back up and glare at him for the formal introduction, but as Sora rises, he simply smiles. He leans in close to Sora and mumbles. "Listen, about before, I think I might be able to train you. If you still want to."

Sora's eyes widen and his mouth agapes. His eyes flick to Maleek and Vanitas momentarily before he refocuses on Roxas. "No, no you don't have to do that."

"I thought it's what you wanted?" Roxas questions. This is part of his experiment as to whether Sora was upset with him about denying his invitation to have Roxas train him. But something lied deeper than Sora's suddenly-so-formal etiquette and his avoidance of Roxas' eyes.

Roxas knows it has something to do with what Sora explained about servants not being allowed to interact with the members for more than carrying out orders, but Sora has such similar traits towards Ventus, that Roxas finds himself desperately trying to keep him close as he thinks he can somehow regain a portion of that beautiful boy who's life ended at the tip of Roxas' blade.

"I, I do. But -"

"Then why not? I have an hour before dinner that is free, and we can spend that together in the training rooms." Roxas suggests. Sora's eyes flicker towards Maleek and Vanitas again, this time Roxas snaps his fingers. "Hey, don't look at them, look at me."

"You don't understand . . ."

"I do understand. And I promise I won't let anything happen to you." Roxas says. A twinge of pain makes Roxas' heart ache as he remembers those same words he spoke to Ventus. And Roxas had lived up to his word, even defied his own father's orders to protect him.

But still in the end, his promise was broken. Killed as easily as Ventus was. Roxas feels a choke in his throat and resorts to coughing to rid it. Whatever he pictures the Faceless capable of doing to Sora, Roxas assures himself that it has to be true with the fear in Sora's eyes.

It's rather infuriating for them to think that a simple friendship amongst servants could cause trouble with the members. Roxas is familiar with the fact that thieves and assassins can't afford to have many loved ones as they are used as leverage, but if they are within the walls of the arguably safest place right now, what could be so wrong about it if there isn't anything romantic?

"Look, I know you're scared. But I promise I will protect you. If you feel uncomfortable about anything or anyone, come and find me." Roxas whispers.

"I'm worried that I won't be able to." Sora replies.

"Even if you can't, I will find you." Roxas says. "I want you to know you can trust me."

"Why?!" Sora hisses. "What makes me so special? Yes, we had a pleasant conversation, but what else is there?"

"I can't explain it."

Sora nods, disappointed and irritated. "Hmph. That seems to be the answer for everything when it comes to you assassins."

"Sora -!"

"Roxas." Vanitas calls. Roxas turns around, but doesn't miss the way Sora goes absolutely rigid as Vanitas' voice booms throughout the room. "We need to go."

"Coming." Roxas turns to face Sora. "Look, come to my chambers after tonight. I'll be back by midnight. Will you be awake?"

"If I can pick up some late shifts of the others, perhaps." Sora reluctantly says. He then nods his head, ending their conversation as he adjusts the basket once again and heading off down the opposite hall.

Roxas sighs and retreats back towards Maleek and Vanitas.

"What was that about?" Maleek asks.

"None of your business." Roxas retorts.

He then continues on as he hears Vanitas follow behind him with casual steps to ensure that his discussion was nothing more than that. With him in the lead, he has the space to think about how he can help Sora.

Roxas can easily make the boy his personal servant, thereby ensuring his protection and securing their time together, but then there is what Sora mentioned about Roxas being away. And if each contract is just as lengthy as this one, that will pose a problem as it leaves a wide enough span of time for something to happen and for them to make it look like an accident.

The back of his brain tingles as Roxas thinks back to Axel, and those similar words he argued with Roxas. A part of him feels guilty at how he's thinking about saving Sora more than Axel, but with fallout, he can't force himself to care. Axel is already protected enough with the open fact that he and Roxas are still together. If they really wanted to attack, they'd have to find a way to separate them, as in have them break off whatever it is they have to ensure that Roxas won't care or won't tear down the entire castle should something ever happen to Axel.

. . . Gods forbid nothing ever does.

Roxas has to admit, even he doesn't think that Axel would stand long against the Faceless, let alone the wrath of his mother should she ever decide to go after Axel after all. But Roxas can take them. He will tear down every single one of them if they dare lay a hand on his Axel.

He pushes his way through the double doors and he leads the trio into the town.

* * *

Zexion stands in the lower levels of the castle, surrounded by individually lit candles and endless vials, bottles, cups, beakers and bowls filled with spices and herbs and other concoctions used in spellcasting.

After the group has gotten settled in, while Zexion would have loved to explore around the massive royal library Roxas spoke so much about, the place completely obliterated out of his own thoughts when he was shown the Alchemy Library within the bowels of the castle foundation. In his opinion, this collection pales in comparison to any other, even the Great Library of Twilight Town.

While it doesn't match the size of the annals above, it's really its documents of spells and incantations that brings him down here every day.

Though he hates the way his ears pop from going to deep, it's understandable why they would have it this far down since there's always the high statistic of something going wrong and a unskilled novice unintentionally unleashing a deranged beast from other realms.

He stands over a table, bottles and beakers scattered all around him and on top of stacks of books or pieces of paper. A ceremonial bowl sits in front of him filled with a special pale kind of dust that glitters in the slightest hint of light.

Holding a green tome in his hand, the intricate silver bordering rippling from the cast of flames, Zexion extends out his hand over the bowl and opens his fingers to reveal flower petals drifting into the bowl. Small specks of light pop and twinkle for a few seconds before he pours some ash on top of it. Smoke that bears the essence of roses billows up and out as Zexion carefully angles his wrist.

He sets down the book onto a podium as he takes a small handful of ground limestone and sets it into a goblet. The pieces each glow when they come into contact with the surface of the cup. Zexion then takes a beaker with a thin neck and rounded bottom, and examines the snow white dust inside. It's paler than the one the spell requires.

Scouring the table for the mineral, he manages to find it tucked behind a stack of small novellas. Its smell and texture is similar to chalk. He churns the chalk inside before he takes a stirring stick and pouring it carefully into the goblet.

More smoke swells into the air; though surprisingly, it doesn't bother Zexion, even when it wafts directly into his nose. "I've never even heard of this spell. Where did you learn it?"

"It's in the Elder Scrolls." Aerith replies. She carries a stack of more volumes in her arms over to another table with more space than the one she's using to work. She sets them down and huffs. Her table is even more of a mess as it contains papers and papers filled with sketches of strange markings written in charcoal and hexes and enchantments written in a language Zexion doesn't recognize.

Zexion whirls to her with wide eyes. "You've read the Elder Scrolls?" he slowly breathes in astonishment.

Aerith smiles sheepishly proud. "And the Tomes of the Agrabah and the Stones of Oblivion." Zexion doesn't bother hiding his shock and jealousy as he stares at Aerith. She giggles. "With being with the Faceless, you tend to travel around a lot."

"Apparently so."

Aerith laughs as she claps her hands to rid them of dirt and dust. "How's that spell coming along?"

"I think it's almost ready."

This spell in particular is what Aerith demonstrated by enchanting those ebony gauntlets meant for Roxas before he leaves for his first mission. Zexion had practiced on smaller pieces of armor such as a fireproof helmet and gloves capable of giving off a clap that echoes like thunder and gives the impact of cannon shot. Both of which weren't too successful and resulted in the helmet quickly shrinking and rusted, and the gauntlets not even able to permit the tiniest of sound.

It was Aerith who had enchanted the gauntlets, but gave the credit to Zexion for gods know why. When things go well – because they're bound to with how much trouble and how many battles it is Roxas gets into – Zexion won't be comfortable at all with the credit they might give. Not to mention if they ask for more enchantments, he's fearful he won't be as skilled enough when they do. But Aerith says that Zexion is advancing further than anyone she's ever trained, and has enough hope that he'll be able to cast spells as skillful as a wizard.

Zexion had a dream once of studying with the King's powerful sorcerer Master Yen Sid, but it was quickly shattered when Roxas and Cloud had sent out to kill him. He doesn't blame the boy, rather himself as he unintentionally mentioned it while conversing with the other members of the guild one day.

Whether this kill was pure coincidence or on behalf of Zexion to ensure he doesn't leave the guild, the question still remains.

This time he's to enchant a simple broom to clean by itself. It leans against a table with nothing else surrounding it. Zexion peers at it and sighs. He feels a hand on his shoulder.

"You'll do fine, Zexion. Not everyone can master a spell in a day." Aerith assures.

Zexion nods and takes the goblet, pouring the thickening gathering of dust into his hand. Exhaling slowly through his mouth, he brings the handful close enough to his mouth and gently blows.

The dust wafts forward and almost takes on a path of its own choice as it artistically swirls and ungulates through the air and aims towards the broom. The pressure of the breeze ripples the papers on the tables and stirs the pages of some already open books.

It then breaks apart into smaller tendrils and curls around the handle itself before making its way down towards the straw. This continues for a few seconds until the dust bursts outward and then dissipates into the nothingness.

Nothing happens.

They wait a couple more seconds, and just as Zexion is about to admit defeat, a sudden stir of movement causes him to freeze.

He turns to find the broom rattling in place, then it as if it stands up straight and leans forward, balancing on the straw. Then he watches the handle peer left and right, as if searching for something.

"Say something." Aerith says, and without even looking, Zexion can tell she's beaming with a smile.

"W-What do I say to a broom?" Zexion breathes through a laugh.

"Anything you want."

Zexion only glances over his shoulder and then back at the broom, who seems to notice his attention and its tip leans back slightly as if waiting. Zexion clears his throat and approaches the broom. The object tilts the tip of its handle to the side like a human would when contemplating something they didn't understand.

"Um, would you mind cleaning that table back there?" He points to a table tucked away in the corner with balled up pieces of parchment covering the entire tabletop and sprinkling along the floor. "See to it the crumpled papers are thrown way?"

The broom looks to him and nods, actually nods, as in the upper half of the handle flexibly bends forward to signify a bow and then turns and walks its way over to the back corner; the straw seems to divide into two parts to mimic legs. Then it does a little hop before it starts to sweep by itself.

Zexion can't stop the laugh that comes from his lips. Even to his own ears it sounds unstable, but he needs to do something to release the unbearable happiness that fills his veins.

He stares at the broom as it sweeps up a small pile of the wrinkled paper before placing itself under the pile and dumping it into the trash bins. "I did it." he mumbles.

"See! I told you!" Aerith beams with happiness.

"I really did it!"

Zexion laughs some more, grateful that no one but Aerith can see his reaction, as he assumes it would only disturb the rest of the rebels. He fists his hands, shaking them in the air with overwhelming joy. He's one step closer.

"How much further?" Zexion asks as he turns to Aerith.

"Not so fast. That was only the beginning. You still have a long ways to go." Aerith halts. "Let's just practice on this some more so you know you have it. But at least you've already surpassed my expectations on healing."

"Which I assume weren't really that high."

"Perhaps."

Zexion chuckles as she smiles and takes a small handful of books to place back on the shelf.

Glancing back to the broom, it is already nearly finished cleaning as it scotches a small stack of books close to one leg of the table.

Finally. He's finally gotten a grasp on bringing inanimate objects to life. He agrees with Aerith that he will need more practice. But it's a definite and highly encouraging stepping stone towards his goal.

His goal to soon be able to bring other things to life, and then master resurrecting.

And then to bring Ventus back for Roxas.

He can't seem to see past that tough façade. The look on his face when he killed Ventus. It still haunts Zexion because he can still see it. When Lexaeus had brought Zexion the body to make look presentable for the funeral, Zexoin had a hard time because he could only imagine Roxas. At least the cut was simple and clean – a simple hole as opposed to a gigantic slash across the boy's chest – but still hard to prepare as the face was so young. So innocent.

What's worse is that he had caught glimpses of Roxas afterwards, and he appeared so . . . broken. So hollow. Zexion could practically see the weight of the anguish and remorse compressing the boy's shoulders so heavily he was surprised Roxas still had the strength to walk.

And though things seem to be able to look up for him, he still has that blue tinge of color around his aura and reeks of grief and guilt.

It'll take a lot of work and study, and perhaps the men of the rebel group might be a little suspicious, but overall Zexion isn't afraid to tell them his plan, should things come to that. But best of all is that he will be able to gain so much knowledge through this experience.

He can only hope that this'll be enough for Roxas to release some of that burden and learn to let go. To believe those last few words that Ventus had said to him.

As Zexion goes to clean up the many vials and cups jumbled on his work space, he notices a certain piece of paper poking out from under a deep red book with an ominous looking depiction of a wyvern on its cover. Zexion slowly inches the paper out until he finds it to be a list of ingredients. For another spell? No, no this is something different . . . something that requires drops of . . . blood?

He is about to pull is out and peer closer when he hears Aerith's voice again. Careful to make sure he doesn't stumble, Zexion sets the paper back under the book, looking like he's searching for something.

"Here it is." Aerith smiles, handing him the next book to read for him to advance to Adept.

Zexion takes the book with an appreciative nod and settles down in a desk and opens the cover. Still as he tries to concentrate on the words in front of him, all he can see is that one ingredient burning through his mind.

Another disturbing thing that distracts him, was the roughly sketched picture of a syringe, with a number marking a certain measurement. The needle aimed at the neck.

* * *

On a rooftop in a very fashionable and respectable part of Traverse Town, Roxas crouches in the shadow of a chimney and frowns into the chill wind gusting off the rooftops. A distressing rainstorm has turned his cloak cold. Roxas checks his pocket watch for the third time. His target had two previous appointments and they've only been an hour each. He's been in the house across the street for almost two.

There isn't anything interesting about the elegant green-roofed townhouse, and he hasn't learned anything about who lived there, other than the client's name – some Lady Vignora. Roxas had used the same trick he'd employed at the other two houses to gain that bit of information: he pretended to be a courier with a package for Lord So-and-So. And when the butler or housekeeper said this was _not_ Lord So-and-So's house, he'd feigned embarrassment, asked whose house it was, chatted up the servant a bit, and then went on his way.

Roxas adjusts the position of his legs and rolls his neck. The sun has already set, the temperature dropping with each passing minute. Unless he could get into the houses themselves, he wasn't going to lean much else. And given the likelihood that his target might actually be doing what he was paid to do, he is no rush to go inside. Better to learn where he goes, who he sees, and then take the next steps.

It has been so long since he's done something like this in Traverse Town – since he's crouched on the emerald rooftops and leaned what he can about his prey. It is different when his father had sent him off to Hollow Bastion or to some lord's estate. Here, now, in Traverse Town, it feels like . . .

If feels like he never left. As if he might look over his shoulder and find Vanitas crouching behind him. And he does. Vanitas is crouched behind him, his head peering left and right at his surroundings. His striking ember eyes are the only thing that stands out against his black silhouette. He catches Roxas staring, but Roxas doesn't look away. Instead he smiles, and Vanitas returns it with ease; almost instantaneously understanding Roxas' nostalgia.

Roxas turns back and sighs, tucking his hand under his arms to keep his fingers warm and agile.

"Just like old times." Vanitas' voice whispers against Roxas' ear.

Roxas doesn't jump, but his heart does skip a beat as he feels Vanitas' presence creep closer. He turns his head to find Vanitas still smiling as he diverts his attention back to the townhouse. Maleek sits atop a chimney, one elbow hooked around one knee. His hood and cowl hide every trace of his blonde hair, his eyes covered by the white cloth of the uniform.

Soon the front door of the townhouse opens, and the target swaggers down the steps, right into his waiting carriage. Roxas barely catches a glimpse of the man's silver-grey hair and fine clothes before he is whisked away.

"He's on the move." Roxas says.

"Yes, and you have blue eyes. Now if we're done stating the obvious, how about we follow him." Maleek mocks.

Roxas straightens from his crouch, and after flashing Maleek a glimpse of his middle finger, all three boys hurry off the roof. Roxas instantly feels the rush of excitement as he roof leaps like he did back in Twilight Town on a regular basis. Some harrowing climbing and a few jumps soon have him back on the cobble streets.

The three trail the client's carriage, slipping in and out of shadows as they make their way across the city, a slow journey thanks to the traffic. While he might be in no hurry to get himself back into the field, and while he is fairly certain his mother was only slightly underestimating his skills, a part of him wonders whether whatever trust he puts into her and her group will destroy him, too.

And not just him – but also everything he's grown to care about.

They finally make it back to the target's house, Vanitas staying hidden behind the one chimney located on the roof while Roxas and Maleek take to hiding across the street. It's in a secluded enough spot with limited neighbors and as predicted, it was a rather journey following him. But at least the days passed quickly with all the work put into it.

Maleek can't help but smile as he can see Vanitas' snarl from across the street, only to put all of his strength into stifling a laugh when he intentionally scoots closer to Roxas, and Vanitas raise his head up slightly.

Roxas waits until the carriage has trotted off, and then at least two more hours until the bedroom light was off before he pushes off of his stomach and readies his weapons. Patience is a virtue, he remembers; and it certainly was tested tonight what with Maleek constantly inching himself closer and closer to Roxas – really rather annoying – and then Vanitas constantly raising his head up to the point where someone from the street could see his faint silhouette. What is it that he's seeing?

"I'm going in." Roxas says.

"Alright, I'll be timing you. There's no certain limit, but still go as fast as you normally do." Maleek says.

"You won't even know I'm gone." Roxas grins, pulling his mask up over the lower half of his face.

With that, he leaps off the roof, his cape flapping in his wake.

The shutters swinging in the storm winds were the only signs of his entry. No one had noticed him scaling the garden wall of the darkened manor house, and with the thunder and the gusting wind off the nearby sea, no one heard him as he shimmed up the drainpipe, swing onto the windowsill, and slither into the second-floor hallway.

The assassin presses himself into the alcove at the thud of approaching steps. Concealed beneath his black mask and hood, he wills himself to melt into the shadows, to become nothing more than a slip of darkness. A servant girl trudges past to the open window, grumbling as she latches it shut. Seconds later, she disappears down the stairwell at the other end of the hall. The girl didn't notice the wet footprints on the floorboards.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the hallway. The assassin takes a long breath, going over the plans he's painstakingly memorized in the hours they've been watching the manor house. Five doors on each side. The target's bedroom is the third on the left.

Roxas listens for the approach of any other servants, but the house remains hushed as the storm rages around them.

Silent and smooth as a wraith, he moves down the hall. The target's bedroom door swings open with a slight groan. He waits until the next rumble of thunder before easing the door shut behind him.

Another flash of lightning illuminates two figures sleeping in the four-posted bed. The man seems no older than thirty-five, and his wife, dark haired and beautiful, sleeps soundly in his arms. He finds it rather hard to believe that a simple refusal of taxes would result in his mother so gravely wanting them dead.

He creeps closer to the edge of the bed. It isn't his place to ask questions. His job is to obey. His freedom depended on it. With each step towards the merchant, he runs through the plan again.

His sword slides out of its sheath with barely a whine. He takes a shuddering breath, bracing himself for what would come next.

The man's eyes fly open just as the assassin raises his sword over his head.


	24. Chapter 23

Roxas stalks down the halls of the glass castle. The heavy sack clenched in his hand swings with each step, banging every so often into his knees. Despite his hooded black cloak that conceals much of his face, the other members of the Faceless don't stop him as she strides toward Tifa's council chamber. They know very well who he is – and what his family connections with Tifa. As their Dark Mistress' son, he outranks them. Actually, there are few in the castle she didn't outrank. And fewer still who don't fear him.

He approaches the open glass doors, his cloak sweeping behind him. The members posted on either side straighten as he gives them a nod before entering the council chamber. His black boots are nearly silent against the red marble floor.

On the glass throne in the center of the room sits the Dark Mistress, Roxas' mother. Her gaze locks on the sack dangling from his fingers. Just as he did before he even knew she was his mother, Roxas drops one knee before her throne and bows his head.

Maleek walks in behind him, along with Vanitas who take their places behind Roxas and kneeling same as him. Namine stands beside Tifa's throne – and Roxas can feel her cerulean eyes fixed on him. At the foot of the dais, stands Namine. Roxas looks up at her from the shadows of his hood, taking in the lines of her face. From all the expression she shows, he might as well have been a stranger.

To his surprise, he finds most of his men in the room as well, lining along the sides, some of them seem to have advanced enough to earn dark clothing and grey cloaks, dignifying them as official trainees. Axel included; in fact a few of his men are here. Demyx, Luxord, Xigbar, Terra, Leon, Lexaeus. Roxas doesn't see Zexion which both worries him, and make him curious. Tifa then speaks.

"Welcome home, Roxas."

Roxas keeps his chin high as he stands and pulls off his hood. Tifa waves a hand at the two boys behind him, an obsidian ring on her fingers gleaming in the afternoon light. "Rise." Vanitas and Maleek push to a standing position. "Is it done?"

Roxas reaches a gloved hand into the sack and tosses the severed head towards her. No one speaks as it bounces, a vulgar thudding of stiff and rotting flesh on marble. It rolls to a stop at the foot of the dais, milky eyes turned toward the ornate glass chandelier overhead.

Other than the former guild master, the rest of the men, and even Namine straighten, glancing away from the head. Maleek just stares at Roxas.

"He wasn't much of a fight." Roxas says.

Tifa leans forward, examining the mauled face and the jagged cuts in the neck. "I can barely recognize him."

Roxas gives her a crooked smile, though his throat tightens. "I'm afraid severed heads don't travel well." Roxas fishes in his sack again, pulling out a hand. "Here's his seal ring." Roxas tries not to focus too much on the decaying flesh he holds, the reek that had worsened with each of the passing days. He extends the hand to Namine, whose cerulean eyes are distant as she takes it from Roxas' hand and offers it to Tifa. Tifa's lip curls, but she pries the ring off the stiff finger. She tosses the hand at Roxas' feet as she examines the ring.

Axel shifts. During their time together on his sailing ship, he hadn't seem to mind Roxas' history. What did he expect would happen when they became indoctrinate into the Faceless? Though he supposed severed limbs and heads would turn the stomachs of most people – even after living for a decade under Twilight Town's rule. And Axel, who had barely caught a glimpse of the atrocities that the guild life brings . . . Perhaps Roxas should be impressed neither he nor his men had vomited yet.

"What of his wife?" Tifa asks, turning the ring over in her fingers again and again.

"Chained to what's left of her husband at the bottom of the sea." Roxas replies with a wicked grin, and removes the slender, pale hand from his sack. It bears a golden wedding band, engraved with the date of the marriage. Roxas offers it to Tifa, but she shakes her head. Roxas doesn't dare look at Axel or the others of his group as he puts the woman's hand back in the thick canvas sack.

"How was his timing?" She suddenly chimes towards Maleek.

"Less than a minute and a half." He answers without the slightest hesitation. "Both going in and coming out included."

"Impressive. Well done, my son." Tifa purrs. Roxas bows to her, but doesn't turn to leave. "Now while I have you all here, I have an announcement I've been meaning to tell. Right now, my members are working together with several vigilantes of the town to rise up and try to do anything to get the King off of his throne – and who are attempting to interfere with my plans. Your next assignment is to root out and dispatch the plans of out next movement."

Roxas clenches the sack so tightly his fingers ached. Everyone is staring at Tifa now, as if this is the first they are hearing this, too.

He's heard whispers of revel forces before he fled Twilight Town. The forces that were led by his father for the very same purpose. He'd _met_ fallen rebels in the prisons he was sent to in order to spring them free. Roxas resists the urge to sigh and droop his shoulders in disappointment. He'd at least expected his mother to be much more different than his father with his crazed plans for conquest and to seize power to the throne since the King himself had no heir – at least not yet.

But to have an actual movement growing in the near heart of the capital; to have _him_ be the one to visit them one by one . . . And plans – what plans? What did the rebels need to know of Tifa's maneuverings? Roxas shoves the questions down, down, down, until there is no possibility of her reading them on his face.

Tifa drums her fingers on the arm of the throne, still playing with the eliminated target's ring in her other hand. "There are several people on my list of leaders, but I will only give you one name at a time. This castle is crawling with spies."

Namine stiffens at that, but Tifa waved her hand and the young woman approaches Roxas, her face still blank as she extends a piece of paper of Roxas. On it is a single name: _Tidus_.

It takes every ounce of will and sense of self-preservation to keep his shock from showing. He knew Tidus – had known him since he was thirteen and he'd come for lessons at the mansion. He'd been several years older, already a highly sought-after courtesan . . . who was in need of some training on how to protect himself form his rather jealous clients. And their husbands.

Tidus never minded Roxas' ridiculous boyhood crush on him. In fact, he'd let Roxas test out flirting with him, and had usually turned him into a complete giggling mess. Of course Roxas hadn't seen him for several years – since before his father morphed him into a near complete sociopath – but he'd never thought him capable of something like this. He'd been handsome and kind and jovial, not a rebel _leader_ to the assassins so dangerous that the King would want him dead.

"Just him, or all his clients, too?" Roxas blurts.

Tifa gives him a puzzled expression. "You know Tidus? Although, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." She softly giggles.

Roxas wills himself to calm, to breathe. "I used to. I assume he's an extraordinarily well-guarded man. I hopefully assume that you've told them of my position. Otherwise I'll be having a hard time getting past their defenses."

"They know of your position and history. Enough to that they won't stop you when you comes into contact with them." Tifa says.

Roxas nods, submissive, yielding, gracious. "Thank you, mother."

"When you have dispatched the first letter to Tidus, I will give you the next name on the list."

Roxas couldn't avoid the politics of the kingdoms – especially their rebel forces – for so many years and now he is once again in the thick of it. Wonderful.

"Be quick," Tifa warns. "Be discreet. Your payment for the contract is already in your chambers." She smiles.

Roxas nods again and shoves the piece of paper into his pocket.

Tifa is staring at him, her head tilted slightly at an angle. Roxas can't help but blush slightly. He's seen that face before; it was a face that some parents gave to their children when they think they weren't looking, a look that displayed how proud that parent was of their child, it was then usually followed by a warm hug and kiss on the cheek. The corner of Roxas' mouth twitches upwards, to make his eyes glitter with the thrill of the hunt. "If you'd be so king, take that head and you may be dismissed." She pockets the seal ring, and Roxas swallows his twinge of disgust. A trophy.

He scoops up the head by its dark hair and grabs the served hand, stuffing them into the sack. With only a glance at Axel, whose face has gone pale, Roxas turns on his heel and leaves.

Maleek and Vanitas follow after him while the men lining along the wall take a different door that leads to a hallway adjacent to the throne room. As he makes his way to his chambers, Roxas can devises two plans: Get rid of the head and hands, and then go find Sora for a well anticipated hour of training after lunch.

As soon as they get into the hallway, Axel can only focus on the tipping of his feet on the plush carpet, his feet interchanging and his cloak whispering against the floor - of which he earned after his second week of training.

It's been at least three weeks since they've officially settled into the Faceless Headquarters. Four days since Roxas and Axel had their fight, and while Axel can briskly have small naps during the night, he hasn't been able to slumber fully as he keeps feeling restless. He needs to speak with Roxas, but his contract and pride have both kept him from going. And Roxas . . .

Axel doesn't bother saying anything to anyone and just stares as his interchanging feet. Roxas didn't seem like himself just now.

Really, for the two months since they've been on the run from his father, he's been like this. His attentive and ornate clothes are gone, replaced by an unforgiving, close-cut black tunic and pants, the wrappings hug his body of which easily gets lost into the folds of that dark cloak he is always wearing. He is a beautiful wraith – and when he looked at Axel, it was like Roxas didn't even know who he was.

Axel glances at the other end of the hall where the main door guided them out, through which Roxas had vanished moments before.

If he could kill people like this, them manipulating Axel into believing Roxas felt something for him would have been all too easy. Making an ally of him – making him Axel _love_ him enough to face against his own father on Roxas' behalf, to ensure that Axel was the cause Roxas had rebelled rather than his own decision.

Axel can't bring himself to think of it any further. He'd visit Roxas – tomorrow, perhaps. Just to see if there is a chance he is wrong.

But he can't help wondering if he'd ever meant anything to Roxas at all.

Meanwhile, Roxas strode quickly and quietly down the hallways and stairwells, taking the now-familiar route to the castle sewer. It is the same waterway, and smells worse than an actual thing, thanks to the servants depositing refuse almost hourly.

His steps, then a second pair – Vanitas' – echo in the long subterranean passage. But Roxas doesn't say anything until he stops at the edge of the water, glancing at the several archways that open on either side of the river. No one is here.

"So," Roxas says without looking behind him. "are you going to say something of just follow me everywhere?" Roxas turns to face him, the sack still dangling from his hand.

"Are you still acting like the Mistress's Assassin, or are you back to being Roxas?" in the torchlight, his bronze eyes glitter.

Of course Vanitas would notice the difference; he noticed everything. Roxas can't tell whether it pleased him or not. Especially when there is a slight bite to his words.

When Roxas doesn't reply, Vanitas asks, "Did you like exploring the city?"

"Just as I would every other town." Roxas knew precisely what Vanitas meant; he wants to know what had happened on the inside of the house.

"He fought you?" Vanitas' chin jerks towards the sack in Roxas' hand.

Roxas shrugs and turns back to the dark river. "It was nothing I couldn't handle." Roxas tosses the sack into the sewer. They watch in silence as it bobs, then slowly sinks.

Vanitas clears his throat. Roxas knows he doesn't really favor this. But this extends far past the Faceless missions, past Roxas missions when he was with his father. This reaches farther back to when they were first brand new partners, and had spent nearly a month together on missions while Cloud had sent Roxas to Destiny Isles for a summer. When Roxas had gone on his first mission on his own in three weeks – to an estate up the coast of the Isles – Vanitas had paced so much before he left that Roxas thought Vanitas would ask him not to go. And when Roxas had returned, severed head in tow and rumors flying about Sir Ansem's murder, it had taken a week for him to look Roxas in the eye. But what did he expect?

"When will you begin your new mission?" Vanitas asks.

"Tomorrow. Or the day after. I need to rest." Roxas adds quickly when Vanitas frowns.

Vanitas steps beside him, still staring at the filthy water, where the sack is undoubtedly now catches in the current and drifting out into the river and the sea beyond. "I'd like to debrief you."

Roxas raises an eyebrow. "Aren't you at least going to take me to dinner first?" Vanitas' eyes narrow, and Roxas gives him a pout.

"It's not a joke. I want the details of what happened with the target."

Roxas brushes him aside with a grin, wiping his gloves on his own pants before heading back up the stairs.

Vanitas grabs his arm. "If he fought back, then there might be witnesses who heard -"

"He didn't make any noise." Roxas snaps, shaking him off as he storms up the steps. After four days of travel, he just wants to _sleep_. Even the walk up to his room felt like a trek. "You don't need to _debrief_ me, Vanitas."

Vanitas stops him again at a shadowy landing with a firm hand on Roxas' shoulder. "How did it feel," he says, the distant torchlight illuminating the rugged planes of his face. "We haven't been in action for what feels like forever."

"It's only been two to three months."

"Don't pretend it didn't feel like that to you too." Vanitas nudges Roxas with his elbow, and Roxas bumps him back by the hip.

"It has. I don't know if I should feel, rejuvenated or . . ." Roxas trails off, unable to decipher his second emotion. "I mean, it's always something I've known so it makes sense that I would miss it, I guess in a weird way. But -"

"At the same time you want to start over." Vanitas finishes.

"Yes."

"I understand."

And Roxas can tell he does. Vanitas is the only other persons who can really understand Roxas in ways that Axel can't. Not really something romantic, but just knowing that feeling of nostalgia of roof-leaping, the combat with singing steel, that gripping fear that spreads across anyone's face. Roxas would be lying if he said he didn't miss it. There are other members that could possibly comprehend what it is Roxas is trying to say, but with Vanitas, being as close to the same as Roxas, their common adolescent thinking is part of the reason they managed to bond.

After a moment of silence, Roxas speaks. "Though you should have a little more faith in me. I am Cloud's son."

Roxas doesn't have time to brace himself as Vanitas pulls him against him, Vanitas' arms wrapping tightly around him. Vanitas hasn't held Roxas since Roxas' breakdown back at the riverbed, though the memory of the embrace often drifts into his thoughts. And as Roxas holds him now, the craving for it never to stop roars through him.

Roxas' whole point of finding the Faceless was to find that equal medium – of killing for justice and not for power – but now it would seem that Roxas is losing his appeal for the carnage in general.

Vanitas' nose grazes the nape of Roxas' neck. "Gods, above, you smell horrible." Vanitas mutters.

Roxas hisses and shoves him, Roxas' face burning in earnest now. "Carrying around dead body parts for days isn't exactly conducive to smelling nice! And maybe is I'd been given time for a bath instead of being ordered to report _immediately_ to my mother, I might have -" He stops himself at the sight of Vanitas' grin and smacks his shoulder. "Idiot." Roxas links arms with him, tugging him up the stairs. "Come on. Let's go to my room so you can debrief me like a proper gentleman."

Vanitas snorts and nudges Roxas with his elbow, but doesn't let go.

As they come to another landing, on the right is a long hallway with iron doors spaced evenly apart on either side. There's a small bard window at eye height. Roxas stops as he leans outward to gaze down the hall. One guard stands outside of one door that's located all the way back. A jail.

One of the iron doors on the left clangs and out steps another guard, his armor painted black with the emblem of the Faceless on his chest. He gives Roxas a nod, or perhaps it's a low bow as he passes. "Sir Roxas."

Once he heads back down the stairs, Roxas peers back to find the one guard standing at the end of the hall approaching them. Roxas and Vanitas simultaneously put their hands to the hilt of their weapons.

"Sir Roxas." The man bows his head. "I'm afraid you have no business here."

Roxas gives him a questionable look. "I was merely coming up here after making a, deposit." The guard tenses as he realizes he's already given away enough for Roxas to know something is up. His tone was too abrupt. "And who are you to tell me where I can and can't go? Your Dark Mistress _is_ my mother. And I am entitled to go where I please."

"I'm afraid this level is off limits to all." says the guard.

"Really?" Roxas says with a sudden predatory calmness. "May I ask why?"

"Personal orders of your mother." Is all he says.

He was guarding the cell at the very end of the hall. Roxas can tell that the cell are numbered with evens on the left, odds on the right.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Says the guard, extending out his arms to corral the boys back to the stairs.

From behind the door comes a sound.

Just a tiny whimper. Like something a coward dog might make to avoid being struck, only all too human and familiar. Roxas' eyes meet Vanitas' for just a moment, but it's long enough for two people who operate the way they do. Roxas lets on of his daggers fall at the guard's feet with a loud bang. A second after he leans down to retrieve it, Vanitas leans down, too, intentionally bumping heads. "Oh, I'm sorry." He says with a light laugh, catching the guard's arm as if to steady himself, turning him slightly away from Roxas.

That's his chance. Roxas darts around the distracted guard, down towards the hallway with the torches bracketed to the wall zipping by him in long streams of yellow and orange.

He hears the guard shout behind him, But Roxas is already at the door, nearly taking it off its hinges as he burst through with his foot.

That's where he finds him. Half-naked, bruised, and shackled to the wall.

Sora.

The stink of an unwashed body, stale urine, and infection breaks through the cloud of antiseptic. The boy is just recognizable by his spiky caramel hair.

On seeing Roxas, Sora shrinks against the moistened stone wall like he's anticipating an attack, even though Roxas would never hurt him. Roxas crosses the cell to the boy. He crouches down and takes Sora's icy hands, which clutch his like vises.

"What happened, Sora?" Roxas asks. "What are you doing here?"

"They took me. While you were gone." He says hoarsely.

"Who took you?" Roxas presses him.

"People," Sora says vaguely. "The night after you left."

The guard and Vanitas come in behind him. "You need to leave." The guard says, but by his voice, Vanitas might've punched him in the throat to earn Roxas some extra time.

A flare of uncontrollable anger surges through Roxas' veins. He has tied up one of Roxas' friends already, and he has the _gall_ to tell _him_ to _leave_?! Sora can see the anger in Roxas' eyes, practically turning his warm sapphire eyes into an icy cerulean. But it's when Roxas speaks does he nearly soil himself, despite Roxas speaking to the guard.

"How dare you." It was . . . calm. _So calm_.

The guard didn't even have time to react to Roxas' words when Roxas' foot comes ramming up, knocking his head back and then jabbing his fist into the man's sternum effectively forcing all air out of his lungs. Roxas then takes a random chain scattered off and twirls making the chain wrap around the guard's neck. Roxas yanks down driving the guard's head into his knee. The guard drops to his knees, his nose leaking blood. Roxas keeps the chain around the man's neck, giving a firm yank to choke him for one second, then aiming the blade of his dagger at the man's Adam's apple.

Sora begins to sob, muffling the sound in his ragged tunic. "Sora?" Roxas says, his voice like gravel. "Sora? It's going to be all right. I'll get you out of here, okay?" Calm, so calm.

Vanitas stands in the doorway, his eyes wide.

Roxas doesn't even look to him as he says, "Get the keys."

Vanitas obeys and saunters over to the guard's kneeling body and unclasps the circle of keys from his belt. Without a word, he goes over to Sora, kneeling before him and looking at the shapes of the keys for his lock. Sora doesn't uncover this, but he lifts it slightly. The shackles on his wrists shift down a few inches, revealing raw sores beneath them. Roxas peers at them from his position. "I'll take you to see my friend Zexion."

"Master Roxas, please . . ." the guard begs, but Roxas merely glares at him coldly.

A predatory glare with still that unnerving composure. "We first see my mother. Vanitas, get Sora out of here and see to it that he's given proper clothing." Roxas says.

Without argument, Vanitas unchains Sora, carefully catching the boy as he sinks to the floor. "Can you walk?" Vanitas softly asks. Sora nods and tries to push himself to his feet, but fumbles. Roxas jerks his head as the sound of Sora's struggle, and gives a gentle breath as he watches Vanitas help hoist his doppelganger to his feet. Sora leans heavily on Vanitas, but Vanitas doesn't even mind.

As he leads Sora out, he turns back to Roxas. "Are you coming?"

"In a minute." Roxas answers returning his stare to the guard.

Vanitas leads Sora out of the cell and down the hallway. When the turn a corner, leading out to the staircase, Vanitas manages to run into a servant girl along the way who retrieves a fresh set of clothes and some healing salve without Vanitas having to explain himself other than rescuing Sora from the dungeon. Sora still doesn't say anything even as Vanitas wordlessly helps him pull the tunic over his head, careful to avoid the sores on his wrist. While Vanitas assumes that the boy doesn't want to put on fresh clothes while still incredibly filthy, he knows he shouldn't try to clean him up yet. Roxas wants to show his mother just what it is the boy had gone through . . . in a matter of days.

He watches the boy as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, and can't help but wonder if this is how Roxas felt when he met Ventus. A near exact look alike, despite their hair color. Unlike Roxas, Vanitas finds it peculiar, especially since he never had a sibling in his life. And he's lived long enough with his parents to confirm that.

"What do you think he'll do to him?" Sora suddenly asks as he rolls up his pants and slides them into his boots.

Vanitas looks up from his spot across from Sora. He sighs through his nose. "What do you think assassins do to people when they get pissed off?" is all Vanitas answers with.

Sora swallows and Vanitas leans back in his chair as the boy timidly sits across from him. It's only moments after he's sitting down does Roxas come into the room and Sora's face pales when he sees the blood splattered across his face. With the Faceless armor, the blood slides right off instead of permeating the fabric, but it drops in a tail behind him.

"Let's go." Is all he speaks before he turns and leaves the room.

Terra is just starting to feel his patience fray after hours of debate when the door to Tifa's council room are thrown open and Roxas prowls in, his dark cape billowing behind him.

"Mother," Roxas commands. "We need to speak."

Terra's eyes flick to Leon and Cid, who share the same level of paleness when they hear Roxas' tone. It's a tone they've always heard him use when he was in training back in the Guild with Cloud. It is something dark and malevolent as the King of Death.

"Roxas, I'm in the middle of something right now. What gives you the right to -" Tifa starts but she stops when she sees the blood trailing behind him, large splatters across his face. His blue eyes contrasting greatly to the crimson tone.

All twenty women and the three guildmasters at the table fall silent, including Miss Tifa, whose sees go straight to the thing dangling in Roxas' hand. Leon is already striding across the room from his seat to the left of Tifa. But he, too, stops when he beholds the object he carries.

A head.

Roxas slams the severed head atop his mother's stack of papers. "We talk, _now_. This won't take long." He growls, releasing his grip on the hair. The head lolls to the side with a thud. Roxas sets his palms flat on the table, a few of the other members sitting lean – actually lean _away_, from him. Whether it's from the smell of blood on his clothes, the intimidation, or the cold death in his eyes, no one knows, but it's frightening.

The man's face is still set in a scream, and there is something vaguely familiar about the grotesque features and mousy brown hair that flops over one of the milky eyes. Cid's face is pale as death, Leon setting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Then Vanitas walks in, his hand wrapped around the arm of a boy of his exact features besides his hair and the innocent round face along with the dirt smearing his body. Then there's the smell of moisten stone and dirt surrounding him. The other members, the women are gapping.

"How dare you do this to him." Roxas growls, as if aware of the presence without having to turn around. "I try to make up a small friendship, and the moment I'm gone you go and throw him in the dungeon? Explain yourself."

What he is right now, the edge on which he is balancing . . . gods help them all.

"I was merely trying to protect you -"

"From what?" Roxas cuts her off. "Having a friend? I don't really quite understand your thinking. What could be so wrong?" Tifa doesn't answer. She merely stares with the same type of look Cloud always gave Roxas when he did something against his orders. "You're lucky I'm not going to skin you alive right now."

"You wouldn't." Tifa challenges, but she swallows back, a sign of anxiety.

"Only because I'm not like my father. I'm not going to become him by hurting my own blood. But if this is how you're running your guild then I am deeply disappointed." Roxas sneers.

"You don't have the priorities to leave."

"I've made it far enough with my men, leaving you would be no different. You did the same to me."

Tifa presses her lips tight in a straight line.

"If I'm going to live with you further, I have certain conditions." Roxas says. "First: Sora will become my personal servant. He will do whatever chores is assigned to him inclined to me. Second: You will _not_, touch him, take him anywhere, and will not do anything of him while I am gone on missions; or you will regret it. And Third: I want to train him. Personally."

"Now that is obscured –!" Tifa speaks.

"Mother, he has the will to learn. The potential. What harm could that be; unless you're so insecure about your guild that you fear a simple servant can overthrow you."

Another suppressed snarl from Tifa. Roxas quirks an eyebrow, a small but wicked smile. The three guildmasters' eyes widen. Roxas certainly knows how to push buttons.

"Sora will stay in my chambers tonight until he is properly cared for and recovered from your . . . disciplinary measures. My mission will be delayed by a week. We are done here."

He turns and starts to walk out of the room.

"Roxas –" Terra speaks.

"The subject is _not_ up for debate!" His final words as he places a gentle hand in between the boy Sora's shoulder blades and escorts him out of the room. He leaves the severed head of the guard.

Vanitas closes the doors behind them and falls two steps behind Roxas and Sora as he keeps his hand between the dirtied boy's back.

Sora gazes down at his hands, his wrists only lightly bandaged after Vanitas helped apply the healing salve to ease the pain of his sores. Sora brushes his fingers over the bandages. "You didn't have to do that." He mumbles.

"The decision was not yours to make." Roxas replies, his tone already different; slowly easing down to a recognizable sternness. He breathes softly through his nose, and looks to Sora. "How are you feeling?"

"Other than shitting my pants?"

Roxas chuckles. Vanitas watches as they continue down the hallway, candles brewing and the long carpet beneath their feet muffles their footsteps. They make their way down towards the staircase cast off into a corner that leads down to the lower bowels of the castle where most of the mages of the castle practice magic for the safety of the other members.

Down and down they go, Roxas lending Sora his thickened cloak in the frigid air. Water drips somewhere, and Roxas looks longingly at the middle archway they approach. He can smell certain spices and the tiniest waft of something burnt. They pass a couple other members, them sidestepping out of the way as Roxas leads the trio.

Step after fearless step they begin to descend down the stairwell. Soon, they can no longer see the landing, Vanitas and Roxas carrying candles handed to them by the two members. Just as it would seem the bottom will never come, whispers fill the corridor, slithering off the wall. Sora hesitates, Vanitas halting to a stop and shielding his candle.

Roxas turns and lays a gentle hand on Sora's shoulder. "It's okay Sora. Haven't you been down here?"

"You have?"

Roxas smiles. "My friend, Zexion, showed me down here once."

"Once, and you seem to remember it like the back of your hand?"

"Training.' Roxas shrugs his shoulders and smiles, still stifling a chuckle as he continues to guide them down the steps.

A landing approaches below, opening into room to their left. A greenish light seeps out of it onto the stones of the stairwell, which continue past the landing and into the darkness. The hair on all of their arms rise as a voice becomes clear. It doesn't speak in any tongue that Roxas recognizes; they are smooth and fluent, and flows like a gentle wind against their ears. They pass the doorway and find one of the members, a trainee, waving his hands over a plastic mannequin. A Faceless trainer watching from behind. The green light slowly turns to a golden yellow as the trainee continues his words.

Passing the room, they continue down until they come to an antechamber with more open rooms on either side.

"Once we find Zexion and get you healed, we can head to my room and get you settled." Roxas says.

"And perhaps a bath." Sora smiles.

Just as they had shared a laugh, there's a loud thunderous boom at the end of the hallway, starling Sora into cowering behind Roxas. Vanitas and Roxas gripping their weapons and taking defensive stances.

The sound of panicking voices echo through the chamber. One of them is Zexion's, the other Aerith's. Roxas hurries down towards the origin room, his hand still on his weapons, Vanitas and Sora behind him.

"Zexion?" Roxas calls. There's a call of recognition, and another thud, another thud though not as loud. "Zexion!"

He reaches the end of the hall to find a large oak door closed. From beneath the crevice comes another eerie green light, though this one makes Roxas feel nauseated. He goes for the brass knob, but it's locked.

Roxas pounds on the door. "Zexion, open up!"

"No! You have to go!" Aerith responds. "Get out now!"

"Vanitas, take Sora upstairs." Roxas commands as he rams his shoulder into the door.

"Roxas -"

"That's an order!"

"Roxas" Sora shouts.

Vanitas sighs, keeping his sword drawn, he takes Sora by the arm and begins to run with him down the opposite end of the hall.

"Zexion, Aerith, hang on!"

Swearing under his breath, Roxas takes a step back before he draws his sword and rams it in between the crack of the double doors. With a simple and hard jerk, the lock breaks off and the door is pried open.

Inside, Zexion and Aerith stare at a darkness so black that is seems poised to devour the world. It churns and swirls, vibrating like a pulse.

"Zexion," Roxas breathes. "What is that?"

The boy's eyes flick to Roxas, his face pale with fear. He shakes his head, his entire being trembling. None of them dared breathe as something stirs in the darkness. There's a click of claw on stone, and a hiss like an extinguished flame.

And then, stepping through the shadows on knees that bent the wrong way – like an animal's hind legs – a creature appears.


	25. Chapter 24

It is something out of an ancient god's nightmares. Its hairless gray skin is stretched tightly across its misshapen head, displaying a gaping mouth filled with black fangs. Fangs that can rip out and eat internal organs; fangs that can feast on human brains. Its vaguely human body sinks onto its haunches, and it slides its long front arms across the stone floor. The stones whine under the claws.

Roxas only realizes he's trembling when he makes to step back, to flee as far and as fast as he could. "Zexion . . . what is that." He repeats, his voice barely a whisper as he doesn't want to test just how well the creature can hear, if at all.

Greenish lights spring up from where strange marks on the floor, and had memorized enough from Zexion's training that the marks are used for summoning. Roxas never cared to use magic as its power is relentless, limitless. Besides that a rare few have the capability to control it, Roxas always had an underlying fear. For a person to summon a creature such as this, from other . . . dimensions, as Zexion once theorized. It's terrifying.

It's also one of the rare occasions Roxas risked getting beaten to a bloodied pulp by his father when he refused to learn magic besides healing incantations.

"Zexion . . ."

"It's – it's a Heartless."

Roxas didn't need to know what it is about the creature that makes Zexion's voice quiver when he speaks its name. Besides looking like something that will haunt his nightmares for days, behind that misshapen body had to be a lot of power and lethal strength.

His mouth dry, his blood pounding in his veins, Roxas steps back. Zexion makes his way over to Roxas, Aerith sliding her way towards the back of the room where a stack of books on a simple wooden table sits.

"Aerith." Zexion breathes.

The creature whirls to looks at the two boys. Aerith, quiet as a mouse, manages to take the book from the table. Despite his instincts of fleeing, Roxas realizes that that book might be the only thing that can send this thing back to the hell it came from. They needed to keep its attention on them.

The creature – a Heartless – shoots its head up, its slitted nostrils sniffing twice. They freeze, but as they did, Aerith comes creeping round back towards them. The beast begins panting. The Heartless' eyes . . . Roxas had never seen anything like them. There is nothing in them but hunger – endless, ageless hunger. The creature is not of this world. According to Zexion's fear, it wasn't what he expected from whatever it was he and Aerith were doing. Roxas fears that not even his daggers will pierce the creature's hide.

Aerith moves so quickly that Roxas can only blink before she is behind them. She has the book open, flipping desperately through the pages to find a solution. The green light still seeps from the marks on the floor – marks Zexion had etched with chalk – illuminating the creature who stares at them with those starving, relentless eyes.

The Heartless stalks towards back and forth on its four long, spidery limbs, sniffing at them, and Roxas pauses. Why didn't it attack immediately? It sniffs at them again, and swipes at the ground with a clawed hand – striking deep enough to take out a chunk of stone.

It wants them alive. Roxas had seen several animals incapacitate their prey before the kill; it likes its blood hot. So it will find the easiest way to immobilize them, and then . . .

Roxas can't breathe. No, not like this. Not in this chamber, where no one will find them until days later, where he won't get the chance to apologize to Axel and tell him he loves him.

"We need to go." Roxas manages to mumble.

The creature sinks back onto his haunches, poised to spring.

"Run."

With a roar that shakes the castle, the Heartless runs for them.

"_Run_!" Roxas screams.

He remains in the doorway as Aerith and Zexion make their way out, watching the galloping at him, sparks flying from its claws as they strike stone. Ten feet away, it leaps straight towards Roxas' legs.

Roxas takes the doors in both his hands and readies to slam them shut. The creature jumps for him and Roxas slams the door, wedging a dagger between the handles before bolting down the hall after Zexion and Aerith in a dead sprint. But mere seconds after a thunderous, splintering boom erupts through the chamber as the Heartless shatters the wooden door. Roxas can only imagine what it would've done to his legs. He doesn't have time to think. He looks back to find the creature shaking itself from the pile of wood.

"Follow me! I have an idea!" Aerith shouts.

She leads the way as Roxas and Zexion race behind, Roxas tossing Zexion two of his daggers so they're both armed. Even if they're not strong enough, they can at least distract it.

They throw themselves through the doorway and turn left, flying down the stairwell. They'd never make it back to the surface alive, but if Aerith has a plan, hopefully they can divert the creature while she possibly tries to draw more marks.

The Heartless roars again, and the stairwell shudders. Roxas doesn't dare look behind. He focuses on his feet, on keeping upright as he bounds down the stairs, making the landing below, illuminated by moonlight leaking into the rotunda.

All three hit the landing, running for the open chamber, and Roxas praying to gods whose names he's forgotten, but who he hopes had not yet forgotten them. Roxas decides to make the attempt and preps three daggers in his hand. Hurling them back, they stick into the creature's arm, but it still power through like their nothing but mere bug bites.

"Roxas toss me your sword!" Aerith yells.

Roxas would question her, but not only does he have the time, but she knows plenty more about these things than he. He has no choice but to trust her judgment. He pulls out his sword and throws it with his remaining strength.

The metal whines as it tosses end over end through the air, and Aerith catches it with her available hand, the other balancing the book in her palm. Her lips begin to move and smooth arcane words leak from her mouth. Roxas watches with astonishment as a bright light blooms from the bottom of the blade, then slowly snaking its way up and around the blade until it's completely covered in a heavenly glow.

The creature hits the bottom landing and charges after them, so close that they can smell its reeking breath.

"In here!" Zexion shouts. A door to a tomb is wide open.

Grabbing onto the side of the doorway, the each swing themselves inside. They gain precious time as the Heartless skids to a halt, missing the tomb. It only takes a moment for it to recover and charge, taking off a chunk of the door as it enters.

The pounding of Roxas' feet echo through the tomb as he runs between the sarcophagi placed at the center.

"Roxas!" Aerith calls. She and Zexion are on the other side of the tomb, Aerith handing a still panicked Zexion some chalk. Roxas looks over just in time to see her toss his newly enchanted sword. It whistles through the air, over the creature's head. Roxas swears viscously.

"Roxas!" screams Zexion.

But Roxas is already running, running straight at those black, rotting fangs. The creature strikes for him, and Roxas hurtles over the snarling thing, the sword landing in the grasp of his outstretched hand. He falls to the floor, rolling a good few times before pushing to his feet. The ground shakes as the creature had pounded the stone of where Roxas once was seconds ago.

The blade shines in the moonlight, rippling with white and gripping the handle, Roxas can feel its power tingle his hands like pins-and-needles.

"Roxas," Aerith cups her hands around her moth. "you need to -!"

As she's about to tell him, the creature turns and lashes out at them.

"No!" Roxas screams.

Aerith and Zexion becomes limp projectiles momentarily as they thankfully had enough experience to miss the creature's claws, and get whacked by the back of its hand. But it sends them flying across the room, crashing into the wall.

The stone cracks under their impact.

Not a small crack, but a spiderweb that keeps growing and growing towards the ceiling, until –

A statue of a gargoyle poised above them, along with five others around the rotunda, cripples and showers everywhere as Zexion and Aerith drop to the ground.

The creature snarls, and he hears its deep intake of breath and the scrape of nails departing stone as the Heartless leaps for him. Roxas ducks and twists in the air and swings his sword.

The Heartless blocks it with its claws and roars, Roxas tumbling to the floor, rolling and pushing onto his feet. Snarling, it goes to swings its arm again and Roxas ducks, spinning low to slash its wrist. It howls in pain and retracts only for a moment. A dark liquid seeps from the wound.

It's still living. It can still bleed.

Roxas readies himself as the Heartless sways back and forth on its front arms, or legs. Taking the plunge, Roxas charges forward, calling upon each of his training lessons to help him as he hops, spins and slashes whatever flesh he can of the creature.

He's nearly gotten five cuts on each of the creature's arms when he decides to leap up, aiming for the head. But this time the creature is ready.

As Roxas is above its head, it lashes out one arm, grabbing his ankle. A yelp escapes Roxas as he's hurled to the ground, the grip releasing instantly. The pain is unbelievable. He's fairly certain his skull is cracked as the world continually goes in and out of focus.

A dark shadow looms over him and Roxas rolls out of the way as the creature's fisted hand pounds into the stone, creating a fair sized crater.

He hasn't even finished his roll when the other hand grips him like a doll, lifting him from the ground. The tomb slowly turns until he faces the creature. It snarls, and Roxas scowls back. Blood trickles down his temple, his lip is split open. The coppery taste of blood pervades his mouth.

The Heartless roars and Roxas brings his arms up and slashes at the creature's head, ignoring the splatter of warm saliva and blood. As he's dropped to the ground, Roxas lands on his feet, pushing back into the wall. He wipes his face and tries to block out the smell as well as the urge to vomit.

He only has time to see its eyes and a blur of its skin before he drives his sword through the Heartless' face.

Pain lances through his had as they slam into the wall and fall to the ground, scattering stones. Black blood that stinks of waste sprays onto him.

Roxas doesn't move, not as he stares into those black eyes barely inches from his own, not as he sees his right hand held in between its black teeth, his blood already oozing down its chin. He just pants and shakes, not taking his left hand from the hilt of the sword, even after those hungry eyes turn dull and its body sags atop his.

It's only when he sees Zexion and Aerith struggle to their hands and knees does he blinks. Everything after that becomes a series of steps, a dance that he has to execute perfectly or else he'd fall apart right there in that tomb and never get up. Zexion and Aerith hurry over to him, surprisingly – or perhaps not – they seem mostly unharmed. Probably due to their practicing, they casted protective wards around them or something to prevent serious damage.

"Easy Roxas." Zexion coos as calmly as he can without degrading the seriousness of the situation.

Roxas first pries his hand from the creature's teeth. It burns mercilessly. An arc of gushing puncture wounds encircle his thumb, and Roxas sways on his feet as he shoves the Heartless off him. It is surprisingly light – as if its bones are hollow, or there is nothing inside of it. Though the world becomes foggy around the edges, Roxas yanks his sword from its skull.

He uses his wrappings to wipe the blade clean, and sets it back into its scabbard.

"We should go." Aerith calmly speaks.

They leave the creature where it lies in a crumpled heap atop piles of stones. The other mages can clean it up. Not like it'll be unusual to see a dead, unworldly creature lying on the floor. Aerith and Zexion let Roxas take the lead, though he's highly aware of their presence behind him, waiting for him to stumble.

His vision blurring, he leaves the tomb and staggers up the stairs, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest.

"Roxas, let us help you." Aerith says.

"Later." Roxas slurs.

"Perhaps we should tell his mother." Zexion speaks softly intended on thinking Roxas is too bewildered to understand, but he does.

"No! Not now." Roxas demands. "We had . . . a, falling out."

"Then we'll try this way." Zexion holds out his hand, and on the wall across from Roxas, another portal opens up, and Roxas can see his bedroom on the other side. Sora and Vanitas are in the gaming room, talking amongst each other, Vanitas pacing back and forth and Sora looking frazzled.

"Come on." Zexion motions. Roxas follows without question, despite the last portal opening wide and letting in that . . . Heartless.

When they make it to the safety of his chambers, Roxas crosses to his bedroom and leans there, panting, as he unlocks it. His wound hasn't clot, and blood is still pouring down his wrist. He listens to it drip onto the floor. He should go into the bathing room and wash his hand. His palm feels like ice. He should –

"Roxas?" Zexion approaches.

His legs give out and Roxas collapses. His eyelids become heavy, so he closes them. Why did his heart beat so slowly?

Roxas opens his eyes to look at his hand. His eyesight is blurry, and all he can make out is a mess of pink and red. The ice in his hand reaches up his arm, down his legs.

He hears a booming, thunderous noise. A thump-thump-thump, followed by a whine. Through his eyelids he can see the light in the room darken. Aerith and Zexion hurry past him and shove open the door to the gaming room, Aerith disappearing into the bathing chamber. Then there's muffled voices.

Then there's a cry – male – and warm hands grab his face. Roxas is so cold it almost burns. Did someone leave the window open?

"Roxas!" It is Sora. He shakes Roxas' shoulders. "Roxas! What happened to you?!"

Roxas remembers little of the next few moments. Voices shout back and forth at one another. Strong arms lift him up and rush him into the bathing chamber. Aerith strains as she struggles to ready some kind of thick cream. Vanitas sets him into the bathing pool, where he then strips away Roxas' clothes. Roxas' hand burns when it touches the water, and he thrashes, but Vanitas holds him firm while Aerith is saying wards in a tongue the blonde assassin didn't understand. The light in the room pulses, and Roxas' skin tingles. He finds his arms covered in glowing turquoise marks. Vanitas holds him in the water, rocking back and forth.

Blackness swallows Roxas up.

So much time later, he opens his eyes.

He is warm, and the candlelight is golden. He can smell lotus blossoms and a bit of nutmeg. He makes a small noise and blinks, attempting to raise himself from the bed. What had happened? He can only recall climbing the stairs, then following Zexion and Aerith through a strange, door –

Roxas gives a start and grabs at his tunic, gaping as he finds that is has somehow turned into a nightshirt, and then marvels at his hand as he lifts it into the air. It is healed – completely healed. The only remnants of the wounds are a half-moon-shaped scar between his thumb and index finger and little bite marks from the Heartless' lower teeth. He runs a finger over each of the chalk white scars, tracing their curve, then wiggling his fingers to ensure no nerves have been severed.

How is this possible? It is magic – someone had healed him. He lifts himself and sees he's not alone.

Sora sits in a chair nearby, his focus currently on sewing up one of Roxas' old tunics, though Roxas himself prefers to simply burn the clothing. Sora then turns to him, as if sensing Roxas' awareness. A smile crosses his lips and he instantly hurtles the fabric aside to rush to the side of the bed. He embraces Roxas after giving a choked sob of relief. Roxas pats his arm and smiles.

"What happened?" Roxas asks.

"That's what I've been waiting to ask you." says the servant boy.

As Roxas opens his mouth, the door to his bedroom opens and in steps Zexion with a tray of food, Aerith behind him as she finishes off braiding her hair. Zexion's face lightens with relief and smiles as he make his way towards the bed as quickly as he can without spilling the contents of the tray.

Roxas is going to say something to Aerith as he recalls her enchanting his sword, but his words stop in his throat as he finds a flurry of red spikes bouncing behind her.

Axel saunters into the room, his hands in the pockets of his pants. There is no smile on his lips, and Roxas shifts as he beholds the mistrust in the reed-head's eyes. Ho looks handsome with his black, short-sleeved tunic revealing the sleeves of his tattoos. He stops at the threshold of the bedroom as Roxas is surrounded by the two mages and the servant boy.

"Try not to move so much. How are you feeling?" Zexion asks.

"Depends."

Zexion gestures to Roxas' body. "If it weren't for Aerith, you would've died from that bite within a few minutes."

Even the blood Roxas had dropped on the floor has been clean. "Thank you." Roxas says, then starts when he looks to the darkened sky beyond the windows. "What day is it?" If somehow two days have passed and he missed his own birthday celebration –

"It's only been three hours." Sora answers.

Roxas' shoulders sag. He hadn't missed it. He still had tomorrow to train, and party after that. Hopefully no one had spoken to his mother; though with Axel's presence makes his stomach clench. How esteemed it would be to stand up to his mother and then to have him attacked and slashed moments later.

"Your mother doesn't know, by the way." Sora answers again as if he can sense Roxas' thoughts. Roxas looks up to him and swallows.

"Imagine the punishment we'd get if she did find out." Aerith chimes. "She'd have our heads."

"Thank you, I suppose. Hopefully she'll believe my lie of a dog had bitten me." Roxas shyly chuckles as he stares at the scar on his hand. He looks up to find Axel still in the doorway. He refuses to enter, but only because he wants a word alone with Roxas, not because he considers himself out of the circle of information. "Will you excuse us, for a moment?"

None of the three look in Axel's direction, Zexion only fiddles with the condiments on the tray before he leaves with Aerith. "We'll be back to give you a checkup."

"That is fine."

Sora nods to Roxas, but doesn't acknowledge Axel as he passes through the entry of the bedroom into the dining area. Axel now has taken two steps in enough for Sora to close the door behind him.

There's a palpable silence that fills the room and feels heavy enough that it could crack the floor. Then Axel crosses his arms and walks over towards the bed. Roxas doesn't break their stare. Axel doesn't come directly up to him, but merely stops at the foot of the bed, then leans against one of the bed poles.

"Do you expect me to explain myself?" Roxas starts.

"It's more thought than hope."

"_They_ already told you everything. I don't see why I have to. Not like I was in the proper shape to tell you."

"Would you have once you were recovered?"

Roxas shrugs nonchalantly. "Depends."

Axel sighs through his nose, slowly shaking his head. Roxas clenches and unclenches his right hand, watching the scars stretch and contact. He had come so close to dying. He flicks his eyes to the red-head, then back to his hand.

"It was an accident." Roxas says quietly, unable to meet his partner's eyes. "Zexion was trying . . . something with Aerith. And he screwed up."

"But what were you doing down there? I know those passages as well as you Roxas. And from the sewer entrance used by the servants, the mages training rooms are quite the walk." Axel pushes off the post and steps faintly closer, halfway sitting on the edge of the bed.

"We were on our way back, when –"

"We?"

Roxas looks up at Axel's tone. Roxas' expression shifts to clear annoyance. "Yes, we. Vanitas walked with me." It takes everything he has not to growl at Axel. Truthfully Roxas did want him here. Just to have his presence in the room makes Roxas feel safe, but his insecurity, mistrust and childish jealousy is incredibly bothersome to the point where Roxas just wants to grab him by the throat. "We came across the dungeons, and . . . I heard Sora. They trapped him down there, while I was gone on my mission. I was going to take him to see Zexion, but that's when we saw that thing. I had Vanitas take Sora upstairs."

"And you took on that thing alone?"

"I had Zexion and Aerith. Aerith enchanted my sword to defeat the creature."

"And look at what it cost you."

"I'm still alive, Axel."

"Hmph, that seems to be your excuse for everything."

"What's that supposed to mean? I thought you wanted to apologize." Roxas snarls.

"I do, but . . ."

"But what?"

"I just, want you to be more careful." Axel argues.

"You don't need to say that."

"Is there something wrong with saying it?"

"Yes, there is! I'm not some silly fool who can't protect himself or use his head!"

"Did I ever imply that?"

"No, but you keep saying 'be careful' and telling me how you worry, and insisting you help insisting me with things, and –"

"Because I _do_ worry!" Axel just looks at him, damning him with that blank stare.

"Well, you shouldn't! I'm just as capable of looking after you as you are!"

Axel takes a step towards him, and Roxas only glares. "Believe me, Roxas," he snarls, his eyes flashing. "I know you can look after yourself. But I worry because I _care_! Gods help me, I know I shouldn't, but I do. So I will _always_ tell you to be careful, because I will _always_ care what happens."

Roxas blinks. "Oh," was all he can managed.

"Maybe we should just leave." says Axel.

Roxas jerk his head to Axel. "What? Leave my mother?"

"Not like you fully trust her anyway."

"Are you simply suggesting this because I got hurt _once_ while we are here? Plus where will we go?"

"We can travel around like we did before." Axel says. "With the training with the guys, we can make it. You won't be so overworked."

"We're not leaving in the dead of winter." Roxas denies.

Axel pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut, then takes a long, deep breath.

"Axel, it's this or my father! We don't have a choice." Roxas puts a hand to his chest. "And before you start lecturing me on my morality, or before you stomp off and pout like a child, just know that there's not a moment that goes by when I don't wonder what things could be like for us. I want things to be different! I want to have a life with you where we're not on the run and I'm not coming home all bloodied and battered. But for now, while I still have someone of family, I will not risk going back out there while that man is still alive and breathing! The man who destroyed _everything_ that I loved!"

Roxas shouts, even though it makes his head pound. He can't breathe fast enough, not as the door inside his mind opens and closes, and the images that Roxas had made himself forget flashed before his eyes. He closes them, wishing for darkness. Axel remains silent. In the quiet, people, places, words echo in his mind.

Then footsteps. They bring him back. The mattress groans and sighs as Axel sits.

Roxas buries his face in his sheet-covered knees. To his embarrassment, tears flow from his eyes. He can't go back out there in the middle of winter and while his father is still after him. But why was Axel so quick to suggest they leave the Faceless? Something about his tone makes Roxas uneasy. He's hiding something, but right now, Roxas is too tired to care.

To Roxas' surprise, Axel gives a chuckle. "You just can't seem to escape trouble."

Roxas lifts his face from his knees, unable to keep a hint of a smile from his lips. "It would go against my protocol."

"There!" Axel says. "A reaction – thank the gods I've finally amused you." He takes Roxas' hand in his warn, dry one. Roxas opens his eyes, but stares at the wall across the room. Axel squeezes Roxas' hand. "You know I love you, endlessly, Roxas. It hurt me – hurt me more than I realized it would – to have things become so cold between us. To see you look at me with such distrust in your eyes. And I don't ever want to look at you like that again." His green eyes shine, Roxas shivers when he feels Axel's warm lips press against his callus knuckles. "I can never compare to what you went through with your father. But you did not let his cruelty harden you; you did not let it shame your own soul into cruelty."

He traces his thumb on Roxas' hand, his fingers pressing into the assassin's skin, working its way to the gold ring that Roxas still wears like it's a simple addition to his skin. "You bear many burdens, but I want to give you a promise." Axel kisses the assassin's brow. "I give you the promise of our future. Our freedom of everything that threatens us, and together we can live in peace. On the plains of the 100 Acre Woods, or along the glimmering shorelines of Atlantica, we will make it together."

Roxas is held in place. He can feel the promise fall upon him like a shimmering veil. This is unconditional love. Lovers like this do not exist. Why is he so fortunate to have found one?

"Come," Axel says brightly. He scoots himself onto the bed and towards Roxas where he wraps an arm around the assassin's shoulder and cuddles him to his chest. "Tell me about how you found Sora and why he as captured, and what it was Zexion had brought into the castle upon him fucking up."

Roxas gives him a sheepish smile.

Even without a blade or magical incantation, Axel had saved Roxas life. More than once. And a show of appreciation will come later. So Roxas wriggles himself down and rests his head on Axel's chest. He speaks.

* * *

Deep in the bowels of the castle, Tifa and Aerith walk side by side through the dampened, stone hallway. The torches burn but darken easily from the slightest breeze with the moisten air. Their capes whisper against the floor and Aerith tries not to focus on the sweat gathering in her palms as she catches a glimpse of the Mistress with the flames casting ominous shadows across her flawless face.

"He is persistent, Madame." Aerith speaks. "He wants to advance so quickly."

"I expected better control from your part, Aerith. Although I quote you on your quick thinking to have my son defeat the creature."

They come to a thick wooden door with a black round knocker, and Aerith wordlessly steps aside and opens the door for the Mistress. After she steps through, Aerith follows reclaiming her position by her side.

"There's also the matter that Zexion was able to even summon the creature at his skill. I'm not sure if it was a mistake but –"

"But it still worked well for us as it proved those creatures can be summoned as well as killed. It'll be useful to use for later on." Tifa says. "Now, onto more important matters. How is your progress?"

"We seem to be advancing well. Teaching Zexion has given more time to sort through all of the needed ingredients. I've managed to solve the need for the base of the serum, however it's proving difficult to obtain the proper poisons as well as considering which ones can collaborate well without shutting down the enter central nervous system." Aerith explains.

They come to another door and Aerith opens it once again, allowing the Mistress inside.

"Have you gotten the chance to test it out?" The Dark Mistress asks.

"We have, though whether the results are laudable remains to your decision, Milady." Aerith bows her head.

They've finally reached the secret dungeon dedicated to Aerith's experiments. The woman has done well keeping things vague for the students she brings down here for lessons as well as manipulating them to helping her finish the recopy.

This, Zexion however seems like he might be a larger step for them in the right direction. According to Aerith, he seems rather talented in the arts of magic, as well as having an incomparable intellect to back it up. If Aerith can't coax the truth out of him, perhaps she can use her skills to get him to unknowingly help.

The entire room is a circular jail cell with multiple wall shackles binding people to the grimy stone. Some are simple innocents, slaves, others are prisoners of war . . . betrayers.

In the room already are two other faceless who straight away, stop whatever it is they're doing to turn and bow lowly to the Mistress. There are two tables shoved up against the walls opposite each other. There's a butchering block located in the corner, a headless corpse lying feet away, his blood trickling towards the drain on the floor. Splatters of crimson coat the wall, the smell correlates with stale urine and the smoke from bubbling liquids of different kinds. The Faceless trainees resume their work.

A metal tray is lined with multiple syringes with each bearing different color liquids.

Tifa glances all around the room and finds a familiar young man chained to the wall. His head hangs low and his fingers lazily move like he is drowsy. He's seen that boy before, he and Roxas sparred a few times together, and once her proud son made a fool of him, he would help the boy to his feet and teach him new stances.

The boy has silver hair speckled with black lowlights and he has been stripped down to a simple loin cloth. His skin is pale and battered and bruised. Tifa can see several cuts where he had fought against the women as the needles poked his skin.

Hunter, is his name.

"I wish to see a demonstration." The Dark Mistress demands. Aerith nods and jerks her chin to one of the Faceless, who submissively goes over to the tray and picks up a random syringe.

"These are out closest results we've come to replication." Aerith explains.

The Faceless trainee approaches Hunter who jerks his head up, and his eyes – one being an icy blue, the other a mocha brown – widen to where white shows all around. He immediately scrambles and begins to thrash against the chains. The other Faceless member comes over and links shackles to his feet to keep him kicking. His eyes show no signs of humanity, only animal instincts and the need to get away from the woman approaching.

The second Faceless grabs him by the hair and shoves his head against the wall while the one holding the syringe rounds to the boy's side. He hisses, baring his teeth as he wriggles underneath the grip. The second Faceless draws her dagger and sets it under his neck. The first Faceless aims the needle at the neck, the tip of the needle inserting into the tender skin. Hunter begins to whimper like a dog.

It slowly breaks out into a scream as the pain spreads as she pushes down on the plunger, injecting the colored water into the boy's neck.

The boy instantly stops his struggling and drops to a dead weight; his body slacking and his head hanging. The Faceless back away and wait.

It's four seconds before the boy's head jerks up, his pupils shrinking back to the size of a pinprick. He immediately throws his head back and howls in pain. It nearly matches the roar of the Heartless, only it's filled with endless agony.

Tifa can see him start to show the symptoms of fear. His forehead gleams with sweat in seconds, his breathing ragged, and his heart beating so fast she can see it underneath his pale, skin, and rattling his thing bony frame. Perhaps he was once a boy of exquisite looks with those eyes. But now he's nothing but a hollow, yellow-skinned skeleton. She can see the hallucinations striking terror through him.

He starts the thrash back and forth, his wrists pulling so tight against his shackles that they begin to stream blood. He continually bangs his head against the stone wall behind him, his limbs bending odd ways and constantly screaming to stop whatever it is he sees. His bangs stick to his forehead in clumps.

Then he stops and stars straight ahead at the Mistress, who simply looks to him with a cold and bored stare. She has her arms folded waiting for the show to be over and to yield the results she yearns.

Hunter soon begins to cower in fear and he's pressing himself against the wall, his feet slipping on the floor as he tries to push himself further away. A warm wet spot appears on his pants as he soils himself from the fear only he is seeing. He whimpers and sobs, mumbling slurred words that none can understand.

"Is there anything else?" Tifa asks, over the whimpering and sob coming from the boy.

Aerith, who seems rather pale, simply stares at the boy. "That is all we know, we can instill the fear, yet he doesn't seem to be able to focus well enough."

"Very well. I'll admit you're farther than I anticipated. Well done Aerith. See to it you keep up the work." The Dark Mistress says as she turns away and exits the dungeon. One of the trainee Faceless hold the door open for her, and she spares them a nod of approval. She stops halfway through the threshold. "Oh, and dispose of him. He's served his purpose, and his noisemaking is highly exasperating."

With a whisper of her cloak, she is gone. Aerith looks to the boy and sighs. She turns to the two other Faceless, who stand aside awaiting her command. She folds her lips in, her eyes blurring. "Prep the block."

The two Faceless infuse Hunter with a numbing agent as they unshackle him and drag him forward. They force the boy to his knees before the stained stone. Hunter still whimpers and can merely sway himself back and forth as the numbing agent immobilizes all use of his body.

They shove Hunter to his quaking knees before the stained stone. Hunter just stares at Aerith, his eyes bright.

One Faceless shoves his head down on the block. Tears run over the bridge of his nose and onto the block. He whimpers again, pleading. Begging.

Aerith bites the inside of her lip.

Suddenly, Hunter then speaks. "He worked . . . too well."

All three women stop to look at him. Hunter merely gazes into oblivion.

"He's still alive. Filled with the nightmares." He mumbles.

The second Faceless clicks her tongue in annoyance and steps forward.

"They couldn't control him." Hunter cocks his head to Aerith so quick that she can hear the pop of muscle in his neck. His eyes are wide and feral. A hideous grin spreads across his thin lips. "And _you_ can't control him! Nobody . . ."

The Faceless woman raises her axe.

"Nobody."

Aerith bites through her lip. The taste of blood saturates her tongue.

"_Nobody_!"

This is his last word as the ax falls.


	26. Chapter 25

Roxas closes his book and sighs. What a terrible ending. He stands from the chair and walks over to the bookcases, sliding it in place. Demyx sits on Roxas' bed, a scattering of papers once again nearly covering the entire surface like a sheet of parchment. The sitar instrument has now become his favorite instrument as it lays spread across the lap of his folded legs. He strums the strings, giving off a flurry of notes correlating well.

They've made it into a habit of Demyx coming over during the hours of lunch of which Roxas uses to escape to his rooms and to his books. With Demyx seemingly wanting a similar time alone to work on his music, they've arranged to meet and order a bunch of food brought up from the kitchen instead. They spread out around through different parts of Roxas' spacious suite, sometimes collaborating in the same space such as Roxas' bed, the plush couches or out on the balcony. Other times they spread out, giving each other their private space and Roxas would sometimes suggest Demyx to music to play, and to his surprise, both he and Demyx know a far variety of the same composers.

Sora has only stopped in once while Roxas was getting ready for breakfast and he laid out a shirt and pants for the day. Roxas had left him simply gathering the dishes and sweeping the floor. Sora reports that the other servants haven't given him much discussion on being captured in the dungeons, if they even knew.

The experience seems to have shaken Sora a bit as he is sadly more quiet, and it takes nearly all of Roxas energy and resources to try and pry the simplest conversation out of the boy. Roxas had offered Sora a chance to speak with him about it, but Sora is quick to refuse. He understands; unlike Roxas, Sora most likely hadn't even set foot near a jail for his entire life. Then for him to just be taken and dragged for at least three to four days. Roxas doesn't want to push the boy to speak, despite him knowing how much Sora wishes to rid himself of the pressure of the experience. He doesn't bring the matter up to Roxas, but that doesn't deteriorate the boy from conversing enough.

As Roxas adjusts his shelf of books and random reads, he turns to Demyx and finds him once again off into his sacred zone where he hears nothing but the music created by his fingers and the gentle hum of the guitar.

Unsure where to do with himself, and walks out of his bedroom. Hunter and he were supposed to meet up during the morning training, but he never showed. In fact, Roxas is ashamed of himself for not keeping tabs on his members and seeing on how they're adjusting to their lives among the Faceless. Perhaps he would search for Hunter and they can go to the game park for some much needed time outside. Roxas actually misses the bite of the winter evening and the sniffling of his nose when it's kissed by the frost wind. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, shaking off a shudder even though he has on a thick sweater; the sleeves reaching past his hands.

He strides into the music and gaming room. He cannot play billiards or cards by himself, not while Demyx was off in his own little word of beautiful music and melodies, but . . .

Roxas eyes the pianoforte. He used to play – oh, he loved to play, loved music, the way music can break and heal and make everything seem possible and heroic.

Carefully, as I approaching a sleeping person, Roxas walks to the large instrument. He pulls out the wooden bench, wincing at the loud scraping sound it makes. Folding back the heavy lid, he pushes his feet on the pedals, testing them. He eyes the smooth ivory keys, and then the black keys, which are like the gaps between teeth.

He had been good once – perhaps better than good. His father made Roxas play for him whenever they saw each other.

Roxas wonders if his father knew he was already in the Faceless. Would he leave them alone if he did? Roxas doesn't dare face the possibility of his parents meeting each other once again. Things had been such a blaze when he had escaped – in two weeks, he'd lost Ventus and his freedom, and lost something of himself in those blurry days, too.

Ventus. What would he make of all this? If he'd been alive when Roxas had fled the city, they could've been living together in the warm halls of the Faceless, and not buried in the heat of smoke, or the cold dirt of the earth. But Ventus, like him, had been betrayed – and sometimes the absence of him hits Roxas so hard that he forgets how to breathe. Roxas touches a lower note. It is deep and throbbing, full of sorrow and anger.

Gingerly, with one hand, Roxas taps out a simple, slow melody on the higher keys. Echoes – shreds of memories arising out of the void of his mind. His rooms are so silent that the music seems obtrusive. He moves his right hand, playing upon the flats and sharps. It is a piece that he used to play again and again until Cloud would yell at him to play something else. He plays a chord, then another, added in a few sliver notes from his right hand, pushes once on a pedal, and is gone.

The notes burst from his fingers, staggering at first, but then more confidently as the emotion in the music takes over. It is a mournful piece, but it makes him into something clean and new. He is surprised that his hands had not forgotten, that somehow in his mind, after months of darkness and slavery, music is still alive and breathing. That somewhere, between the notes, is Ventus. Roxas forgets about time as he drifts between pieces, voicing the unspeakable, opening old wounds, playing and playing as the sound forgives and saves him.

Leaning against the doorway, Demyx stands, utterly transfixed. Roxas has been playing for some time with his back to him. Demyx wonders when Roxas would notice him, or if he'd ever stop at all. Demyx wouldn't mind listening forever. He was merely mingling with his sitar when the clock had struck five in the evening. Demyx was going to tell Roxas he is leaving to go back to his own chambers, but instead found the young assassin pouring his secrets into a pianoforte.

Demyx peels himself from the wall. For all Roxas' assassinating experience, he doesn't notice Demyx until he sits down on the bench beside him. "You play beau –"

Roxas' fingers slip on the keys, which let out a loud, awful CLANK, and Roxas is halfway to the rack of cue sticks when he beholds Demyx. Demyx could've sworn that the assassin's eyes were damp. "I had forgotten you were here." Roxas glances to the door. Was he planning on using one of those cue sticks against Demyx?

"I came to tell you I was leaving." Demyx says with a quick smile. "I apologize if I interrupted." He wonders at Roxas' discomfort as Roxas turns red. It seems far too human an emotion for Twilight Town's Assassin. Though, by now Demyx should be accustomed to seeing Roxas as more than that, though with his presentation of a severed head to the Dark Mistress, it was a cruel reminder of what Roxas was and still is. "But you were playing so beautifully that I –"

"It's fine." Roxas walks back over towards the bench. Demyx stands, giving him the entire space of the bench. As he rounds to stand off to the side of the instrument, he can see part of the scar on Roxas' shoulder poking out from beneath his tunic. If his calculations are correct, that's the same wound that Vexen had sewn for him back on their ship. The event feels like an eternity ago. "So are you really going?"

Demyx smiles roguishly. "Unless you want me to say."

"I don't care."

"Well I wouldn't mind. Your room is far more commodious than mine."

"Look at you using big words." Roxas says, but the corner of his mouth drift upwards.

"I may be an idiot, but I'm not stupid." Demyx smiles, joy pulsing through him when he sees the blonde's shoulders bounce from a chuckle. "But, am I allowed to be here outside out time?"

"If you're comfortable being in the same room with Twilight Town's Assassin."

Demyx wouldn't be intimidated, even if Roxas could grab that billiards cue and skewer him with it in a matter of seconds. "From your playing, it seems that you're a great deal more than that."

"What do you mean?" Roxas turns to him, his blue eyes can melt any woman with the way the blue seems to curl and dance like ink in water.

"Well," Demyx says, trying not to get lost in those strange, lovely eyes. "I don't' think anyone who plays like that can be _just_ a criminal. It seems like you have a soul." He teases.

"Of course I have a soul. Everyone has a soul."

He is still rather red. Demyx fights his grin. For a deadly assassin as he claims to be and demonstrates to be, he is so adorably bashful. Demyx walks up and wraps his arms around the boy's shoulders. Roxas stiffens as Demyx rests his chin on the top of his head.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Roxas asks.

"It's called a hug. Embrace it." Demyx says, tightening his arms for emphasis.

Roxas laughs as she tries to elbow Demyx. "Knock it off."

Demyx grips tighter and laughs. "Come on, enjoy it. Feel the love of my friendship!"

"Stop!" Roxas yelps with a laugh, still lamely attempting to wriggle himself from Demyx's arms.

"Feel my friendship! It's colored with rainbows and unicorns!" Demyx laughs.

"You're so weird." Still, Roxas settles enough to pat Demyx's arms to satisfy him. Finally Demyx releases him and trots over to one of the chairs.

"So, how are you and Maleek getting along?" of course, it is a totally innocent question.

He shrugs, and Demyx tries not to read too far into the gesture. "Fine. I think he hates me a bit, but given his position, I'm not surprised."

"Why do you think he hates you?"

For some reason, Demyx couldn't bring himself to deny it.

"Because I'm the son of their Mistress, and he's her second in command. Despite how I already out rank him, in a sense, he's probably worried I'll steal his title."

"Well I can assure you that he doesn't hate you."

"Really? Are we really going to talk about this?" Roxas closes the lid to the pianoforte and leans his elbows on it, facing Demyx.

"What?"

"You really want to gossip like those pathetic school girls we see on the streets?"

"Oh come on, don't pretend you don't think it's interesting." Demyx defends.

"Oh, of course. I completely think that the Crown Prince looking 'absolutely, achingly handsome' in his newfound jacket is worth a conversation." Roxas belittles.

Demyx holds his hands up. "I'm just saying, he doesn't hate you, I just think he's jealous."

"That's just a sugarcoated way of saying he hates me. Like it's masked hatred."

"There really is a difference." Demyx assures. "I'm sure he really does admire you in a way."

Roxas shrugs. "I can't say I blame him."

"Hey, I haven't seen that side of you in a while." Demyx smiles as he leans back into the chair, draping one leg over the cushioned arm. "But do you wish it were otherwise?" He gives Roxas a lazy grin. That question wasn't so innocent.

Roxas pushes his elbows off of the lid and leans forward resting them on his knees. "Well, who wants to be hated? Though I'd rather be hated than invisible. But it makes no difference." He isn't convincing.

"You're lonely?" Demyx says before he can stop himself.

"Lonely?" Roxas shakes his head. "No. I have Axel. And I can survive well enough on my own – if given the proper reading material."

Demyx looks at the fire, trying not to think about where he's been mere months before – and what that kind of loneliness might have felt like. "Still, it can't be pleasant to be one's own companion at all times."

"And what would you do?" Roxas laughs. "Play away your troubles away on any stray instrument you find?"

"Not away, but merely to make the pain bearable. I can tell you'd want to as well."

"I'm already a notorious assassin – I don't particularly feel like being notorious as a bard." Demyx dramatically chokes, but Roxas goes on. "Would you like me to explain why, or is it enough for me to say that I prefer cowering rather than applauding fans?"

Demyx frowns, though Roxas can see he's slightly offended. "I'm not going to debate morality with an assassin. _But_, you do kill people for _money_, you know."

Roxas' eyes become hard and he gets up from the bench. "I didn't mean to offend. You may leave."

"Oh great, now I'm the bad guy." Demyx doesn't know whether to laugh or yell.

"It's not that, and I'm not mad. I'm not throwing you from my rooms for stating the truth."

Demyx adjusts his position in the seat. "Tell me about your life."

"You already know about my life."

"I meant the littler details. Not how you were raised by the 'Lord of the Douches' and can ice a man's soul with just a simple glare. But about your hobbies, what you do in your spare time." Demyx says with a smile.

"I feel like I should be asking you those questions. I've barely caught a glimpse of _your_ back-story apart from what you've spoken in training and out times out Axel's ship."

Demyx shrugs. "How did you learn to play the pianoforte so masterfully? And what was that piece? It was so sad; were you thinking about a secret lover?"

"I practiced." Roxas strides, walking towards the door. Demyx gets up and starts to follow. "And yes, I was." he adds. "Of a sort."

"In that case I'm _really_ sorry I interrupted." He stops a foot away, but the space between them feels strangely intimate. "I had no idea you had someone else before the Captain."

A small tingle of happiness tickles Roxas' chest, and a corner of his mouth upturns. He hasn't heard Axel be referred to as 'Captain' since his ship sank, arguably losing his title. Perhaps if Roxas were to call him that once again, it'll trigger a form of reaction; perhaps a positive reaction.

"I didn't have anyone before Axel." Roxas crosses his arms. "And the person who . . . inspired that song wasn't exactly a lover. But the love was just as unconditional. To say he was merely a friend would be putting it mildly."

Demyx tilts his head, his eyebrows furrowed. "What? Then who –"

Roxas stalks past him and drops into the armchair. At least he isn't leaving. "I'd rather not talk about it. It still hurts, and I'm sure it will forever no matter how much time passes or how many good things I try to do to make up for it."

"Did you both at least leave on a, good note? And I'm sorry for wording it that way –"

"No, don't be."

"– But, did you to at least say what needed to be said?"

Roxas is leaning his cheek on his hand, and his eyes flick off to the side for a moment. "I presume. Though, I feel he said more than I should have."

"I must go now," Demyx says at last. "But I shall be back tomorrow."

"I look forward to it." Roxas says dryly.

"Good night, Roxas." Demyx looks around the room and grins. "Tell me something before I leave: this mystery person of yours . . . he doesn't live in the castle does he?"

He instantly knew he'd said the wrong thing when some of the light vanishes form Roxas' eyes. "Good night." He says a bit coldly.

Demyx shakes his head. "I didn't meant to –"

Roxas just waves him off, looking towards the fire. Understanding his dismissal, Demyx strode to the door, each of his footsteps sounding in the now too-silent room. He is almost to the threshold when he Roxas speaks. "He was my angel."

He is staring at the fire. _Was_ his angel . . . "What happened?"

Roxas looks to him, sadly smiling. "He died."

"When?" Demyx gets out. He would have never interrupted him like that, never said a damn word if he'd known . . .

Roxas' words were strangled as he says. "Four months ago."

A glimmer of pain flashes across Roxas' face, so real and endless that Demyx feels it in his gut. That was . . . so soon, so sudden. "I'm sorry." He breathes.

Roxas shrugs, as if it can somehow diminish the grief Demyx still sees in his eyes, shining so bright in the firelight. "So am I," Roxas whispers, and faces the fire again.

Sensing he truly is done talking this time, Demyx clears his throat. "Happy early birthday, by the way." Roxas doesn't say anything as Demyx leaves the room.

Four months. How can that have been so recent, and Roxas still in one piece? Something feels familiar about the time span, urgent. Demyx thinks back. When Roxas first came upon their ship, that was nearly a year. When they escaped Twilight Town . . . that was two months. Then they joined the Faceless, supposedly that's another month and then –

Ventus . . .

Demyx's throat tightens to where he nearly chokes for air. Coughing and gasping greedily for oxygen.

He can't banish Roxas' heart-wrenching music from his mind, even when he burns his first three copies of his newly written songs, even when he plays his sitar long into the night, even when he finally falls asleep.

The next morning, Roxas wakes up and relishes in the silence.

There is something inherently peaceful about the day, despite the darkness of his encounter with his mother. Would she still host his party? Logically speaking, perhaps. If she was using the party as a way to meet with her clients, she wouldn't cancel it because of Roxas' bad behavior. For the moment, the whole castle has quieted to hear the falling snow. Frost laces each windowpane, a fire already crackling in the fireplace, and shadows of snowflakes drift across the floor. It is a peaceful and lovely a winter morning as he can imagine. He wouldn't ruin it with thoughts of his mother's cruelty, or of Ventus, or of Sora's timidity.

No, it's the morning of his birthday celebration, and he will be happy.

It doesn't feel like a day to celebrate the darkness that gives birth to the spring light, nor does it feel like a day to celebrate the anniversary of his birth. It is simply a day where he will be excused from training as well as given a large feast for all meals of his day, with extra sweets slipped in. Roxas smiles and rolls over. But something gets in his way. It is crinkly and harsh against his face, and has the distinct odor of –

"Candy!" a large paper bag sits on a pillow, and he finds that it is filled with all sorts of confectionary goodies. There is no note, not even a name scribbled on the bag. With a shrugs and glowing eyes, Roxas pulls out a handful of sweets. Oh, how he _adores_ candy!

Roxas issues a jolly laugh and crams some of the candy into his mouth. One by one, he chews through the assortment, and he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply as he tastes all of the flavors and textures.

When he finally stops chewing, his jaw aches. He empties the contents of the bag onto the bed, ignoring the dunes of sugar that pour out with it, and surveys the land of goodness before him.

All of his favorites are there: chocolate-covered gummies, chocolate almond bark, berry-shaped chews, gem-shaped hard sugar, peanut brittle, plain brittle, surgarlace, frosted red licorice, and, most importantly, chocolate. He pops a hazelnut truffle into his mouth.

"Someone," he says between chews. "is _very_ good to me."

Roxas pauses to examine his bag again. Who had sent it? Maybe his mother. Probably Axel, maybe even Vanitas. Nor the Frost Elves that delivered presents to good children. They'd stopped coming to him when he'd first drawn blood room from another human being. Maybe Maleek? He liked him well enough.

"_Master_ _Roxas_!" Sora exclaims from the doorway, gaping.

"Good morning, Sora!" Roxas says. "Care for a candy?"

Sora storms towards Roxas. A smile tugging at his lips and a laugh mingling through his breaths. "Good morning indeed! Look at this bed! Look at this mess!" Roxas winces.

"Your teeth are _red_!" Sora laughs. He reaches for the hand mirror that Roxas keeps by his bed and holds it for the assassin to see.

Sure enough, his teeth are tinged with crimson. He runs his tongue over his teeth, then tries to brush away the stains with a finger. They remain. "Damn those sugar suckers!"

"Yes," Sora snaps. "And that's _chocolate_ all over your mouth. Even my cousin doesn't eat his candy like this!"

Roxas laughs. "You have a cousin?"

"Yes, and he can eat his food without getting it on the bed, on his, and on his _face_!"

Roxas pushes back the covers, sugar spraying into the air. "Have a candy, Sora."

"It's seven in the morning." Sora sweeps the sugar into his cupped palm. "You'll make yourself sick."

"Sick? Who can get sick from candy?" Roxas makes a face and expose his crimson teeth."

"You look like a demon." says Sora. "Just don't open your mouth and no one will notice."

"You and I both know that's not possible."

To his surprise, Sora laughs. "Happy Birthday, Roxas." He says. Hearing Sora call him by his name sends an unexpected burst of pleasure through him. "Come," the boy chuckles. "Let's get you dressed – breakfast begins at nine." Sora bustles toward the dressing room, and Roxas watches him go. His heart is big and as red as his teeth. There is good in people – deep down, there is always a shred of good. There _had_ to be.

Roxas emerges a while later, clad in a solemn-looking blue suit that Sora had deemed the only appropriate attire for breakfast attendance. A translucent cape is clasped to the gold epaulettes on his shoulders. Roxas' teeth are, of course, still red, and now he feels queasy as he stares at the bag of candy. However, he quickly forgets about his sickness when he sees Vanitas sitting at the table in his bedroom with crossed legs. He wears a beautiful white-and-gold jacket.

"Are you my present, or is there something in that basket at your feet?" Roxas asks.

"If you'd like to unwrap me," Vanitas says, lifting the large wicker basket onto the table. "we still have an hour until your breakfast banquet."

Roxas laughs. "Nice to see you too, Vanitas."

"And Happy Birthday to you, as well. I can see that I – Are your teeth red?"

Roxas clamps his mouth shut, shaking his head in violent protestation.

Vanitas grabs Roxas' nose and pinches it closed, and try as he might, he cannot dislodge his fingers. Roxas opens his mouth, and Vanitas bursts into laughter. "Been eating candies, have you?"

"You sent those?" Roxas keeps his mouth closed as much as possible.

"No, your mother picked them out, I just made the delivery." He picks up the brown bag of candy on the table. "What's your . . ." he trails off as he weighs the bag in his hands. "Didn't she give you three pounds of candy?"

Roxas smiles impishly.

"You ate half the bag!

"Was I supposed to save it?"

"I would've like some!"

"You never told me that."

"Because I didn't expect you to consume all of it before breakfast!"

Roxas snatches the bag from him and puts it on the table. "Well, that just shows poor judgment on your part, doesn't it?"

Vanitas opens his mouth to reply, but the bag of candy tips over and spills across the table. Roxas turns just in time to see the slender golden snout protruding from the basket, inching toward the candy. "What is that?" Roxas asks flatly.

Vanitas grins. "A birthday present for you."

The blonde assassin flips back the lid of the basket. The nose instantly shoots inward, and Roxas finds the strange golden-haired pup quivering in the corner with a red bow around her neck.

"Oh, _puppy_," Roxas croons, and pets her. The dog trembles, and he glares at Vanitas over his shoulder. "What did you do, you buffoon?" he hisses.

Vanitas throws his hands in the air, "It's a _gift_! I almost lost my arm – and more important parts – trying to put that bow on, and then she howled all the way up here!"

Roxas looks piteously at the dog, which is now licking the sugar off his fingers.  
What am I going to do with her? Where did you get her from?"

"Your mother as some kennels out back. One of her hounds gave birth to a litter of pups. They were about to put this one down until I convinced them to give them to me."

"What? Kill it? For what reason? What did she do to them?"

"They didn't think it would make a suitable pet, which is what all of those dogs will become."

"So they'd kill it because of its temperament? It can't help being that way!"

"Maleek also remembered how the hounds followed you when we traveled. Perhaps she'll trust you enough to become adapted to humans. Some people have those kinds of gifts." Roxas raises his eyebrows. "It's a lousy present, I know. I should have gotten you something better.

The dog peers up at Roxas. Her eyes are a golden-brown color, like molten caramel. She seems to be waiting for a blow to fall. She is a beautiful thing, and her huge paws hint that she might someday grow large – and swift. A slight smile spreads on Roxas' lips. The dog swishes her tail – on, then another time.

"She's yours," Vanitas says. "if you want her."

"What shall I do with her if I'm sent off to a job?"

"I'll worry about that." Roxas stroke her folded velvet-soft ears, then ventures low enough to scratch her chin. The pup's tail wags in earnest. Yes, there is life in her.

"So do you want her?" Vanitas mutters.

"Of course I want her," Roxas says, then realizes what the implication would be. "But I want her trained. I don't want her urinating on everything and chewing on furniture and shoes and books. And I want her to sit when I tell her to and lay down and roll over and whatever it is that dogs do. And I want her run – run with the other dogs when they're practicing. I want her to put those long legs to use."

Vanitas crosses his arms as Roxas scoops up the dog. "That's a long list of demands. Perhaps I should've gotten you weapons after all."

"When I'm training, or on missions"– Roxas kisses the pup's soft head, and the dog nestles her cold nose against Roxas' neck– "I want her in the kennels, training as well. When I return in the afternoon, she may be brought to me. I'll keep her in the night." Roxas holds the dog at eye level. The dog kicks her legs in the air. "If you ruin any of my shoes," he says to the pup, "I'll turn you into a pair of slippers. Understood?"

The dog stares at him, her wrinkled brow lifting, and Roxas smiles and sets her down on the floor. She begins sniffling about, though she stays far away from Vanitas, and she soon disappears beneath the bed. The assassin lifts the dust ruffle to peer underneath. Thankfully, the pup hadn't lifted its leg. She continues her exploration, sniffing everywhere. "I'll have to think of a name for you," Roxas says to her, and then stands. "Thank you," he says to Vanitas. "It's a lovely gift."

Vanitas is kind – unnaturally kind, for someone of his upbringing. He has a heart, Roxas realizes, and a conscience. He is different from the others. Timidly, almost clumsily, the assassin strides over to Vanitas and kisses him on the cheek. His skin is surprisingly hot, and Roxas wonders if she'd kissed him properly as he pulls away and finds Vanitas' eyes bright and wide. Had he been sloppy? Too wet? Was his lips sticky from the candy? He hopes Vanitas won't wipe his cheek.

"I really like it. Thank you." Roxas says.

"I'm glad you do. I was really worried if you didn't like pets or not." Vanitas clears his throat and looks at the clocks. "I have to go. I'll see you at breakfast, and tonight at the ball. Be sure to save me a dance, and maybe I'll protect you from the possible court ladies. Though maybe Axel will do the same, so we'll be competing, I guess."

Roxas has never seen Vanitas _babble_ like this. "Enjoy yourself." Roxas says as Vanitas takes a step back and almost crashing into the table.

Vanitas blushes madly, clearing his throat again. "I'll see you tonight then."

Roxas hides his smile behind his hand. Had his kiss thrown him into such a tizzy?

"Goodbye, Roxas." He looks back when he reaches the door. Roxas smiles at him, flashing his red teeth, and Vanitas laughs before he bows ad disappears. Alone in his rooms, Roxas is about to see what his new companion is up to when Sora comes back into the room.

"I'll see to it she doesn't nibble on your clothes." He smiles.

Roxas strode into the bedroom, wringing his fingers. "That was honestly nice of him."

"And it's your first of many gifts today."

There's another knock at Roxas' door and in steps Maleek out of his uniform and wearing a simple grey vest over his black tunic. The curls of his tattoo poking out over the collar line. "Come to escort me?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I wouldn't do this if I had the choice." Maleek says. "But, happy birthday."

"Such pleasantry coming from your voice." Roxas says, and as he's about to go on, Maleek side steps and Roxas' mother steps inside. His voice hitches.

His mother's hair, like that of a sorceress, lies curtaining around her head. It draped over the sides of her shoulders in long, coiling tendrils. It's possible she might have bangs, but Roxas can't tell as they're held back with a headband. Her navy blue dress, heavy and flowing, like the inaugural gown of the queen she is, spills from either sides of her covered feet while the embellished train fell in gentle folds along the rug. The pleats and endless ripples in the lavish garment gave the illusion of softness, her face the illusion of life. The soft, sweeping lines in her dress and gentle arm movements emphasize her cheerful, sweet disposition and her joy for life. Her large, brown almond-shaped eyes capture the sense of wonder.

Roxas sighs through his nose. Their clothing matches; like mother and son. She gives a timid swallows before she speaks. "Good morning, son."

"Morning, mother." Roxas hasn't spoken to her since he barged into her council meeting and placed the severed head of her guard on the table after he found Sora chained in the dungeon. Though he _will_ make an acceptation since it is his birthday, and that she is still throwing him such an extravagant celebration, he still won't apologize, and she knows it.

"Happy birthday." She steps forward into the room and hold out her hands, revealing a small, flat, post-card box, uncertain whether he should accept it. His mother continues to hold the box steady. At last Roxas' curiosity outmuscled his indecision. He takes it.

"What?" she says. "Don't look at me like that. It's not a tarantula. Would you just open it already?"

Roxas clasped the box between both hands and carefully opened the hinged lid. Inside, the thin chain of a silver necklace glimmered. A tiny charm in the shape of an open hand rested in the middle of a black velvet cushion, its fingers with delicate filigree. In the center of the palm, a tiny iridescent opal lay nestled in the dish of a circular setting.

The necklace sparkled like moonlight on water.

Roxas let out a small sound of surprise. The pendant was so beautiful and intricate that he had no doubt the stone it held was genuine. It struck him as an extravagant token. At the same time, the well-worn state of the box gave him the impression that the charm was old – an antique, if he had to guess. Though the pendant has five fingers, it looked different from any representation of a hand he's seen. It had two thumbs, the tips of which curved outward on either side. It hung from the chin so the fingers would aim downward, toward the wearer's feet on an intricately designed silver pendant made of a dozen interlocked circles.

"It was my great grandmother's." Tifa says.

Roxas looks up. He clamps the box shut with a sharp snap and, shaking his head, held it back to his mother. "I can't accept this."

"Take it sweetie. It's called a birthday gift for a reason. And while I now it shouldn't make up for what I did, I'm hoping you'll still accept it."

Roxas looks to the necklace and back to his mother. He inhales through his mouth and sighs through his nose. "Thank you, mother. It's beautiful. And I am truly honored."

He bows before he wanders over to the hutch located by the table. Setting the box down, Roxas flips pen the lid once more. He then plucks the necklace free of its velvet bed. The chain untraveled like a silver snake. The star dangles at the end, the opal gleaming, as iridescent as the sparkling snow that coats the world in winter.

Roxas unlatches the necklace and walks over to his wardrobe, opening the panel revealing the long mirrors on the inside of the door. Roxas lowers the chain over his head and latched the clasp in place.

The pendant rests against his chest, glowing like it was always meant for him.

He exhales and notices the corner of his lips curl upward.

"How'd you like the books?" Tifa asks as she folds her hands in front of her.

"They were very nice." Roxas says quietly. "They were wonderful, actually."

"I'm glad." Their eyes met and Roxas adjusts his jacket as he approaches her. "Now, while I adore your attire, picked out well, I'm afraid I must ask a favor of you."

"What is it?" Roxas asks, aware of the footsteps of Sora behind him. They falter slightly, but they continue on.

Tifa bites her bottom lip and takes a deep breath and her demeanor shifts to acting like the leader that she is of the Faceless. "I must request to you, to change your hair color."

Roxas goes rigid momentarily, and he can hear Sora pause behind him. The only thing keeping his expression neutral is Maleek's placid face, he knew. "Why?" Roxas practically growls, his tone comes out snappy. "What's wrong with my hair?" he says as he brings his fingertips to the blonde ruffles of his hair.

"Oh nothing, nothing honey." Tifa steps forward, grasping Roxas' shoulder, despite him instinctively pulling away, her hands stay, and he doesn't try any further. "It's beautiful, kissed by sun. All natural color you can't get in any beauty shop." He pets his hair like Roxas petted his new pet. Still he can see the simply sadness in her eyes as if she's really afraid to see his hair go. "But, you have to understand, it's what easily makes you recognizable, to anyone."

"Precisely why I like it." he defends.

"But it also makes you more noticeable to your father." Tifa adds.

Roxas droops his shoulders. "I suppose, but I haven't heard from my father in a while. Whether he knows I'm here or not. So maybe he found out and left."

It's a stupid assumption, since Roxas knows his father doesn't give up easily. And so does Tifa. "You know he will try whatever he can. This is just a precautious step. And don't worry, dye washes out. It's a new look, and you of all people should be used to trying new 'looks'."

He couldn't deny that. He's done more extreme changes in his appearance while living with his father. He remembers how Cloud himself had shaved off all of Roxas' hair one summer when Roxas was assigned to infiltrate a guards' barracks. Cloud took the tip of his knife and sliced open several deep scars on Roxas' scalp to make him look much older and experienced in fighting. If anything else, at least he looked like a bloodied civilian in need of aid. Roxas couldn't sleep on his head for weeks the cuts hurt so badly. He can still feel one that Cloud had made, nearly cutting off Roxas' ear. The scar stretched from the back of his ear and down the side near the back of his neck.

Roxas lifts his fingers to the scar, feeling the puckered skin bump underneath his fingertips.

"The dye doesn't hurt, and it'll wash out, when not reapplied." Tifa continues. "I'm doing this for your own good, and I understand your hesitation, but at least you'll get to keep your hair. Hopefully it'll take off the attention of your red teeth."

Roxas folds his lips in, but snorts. Well, at least he gets to keep his hair on his head this time, what's the difference if it's a different color?

"Uh . . . very well." Roxas submits. "Better than having my head shaved."

Tifa smiles brightly and kisses Roxas' forehead. "Oh thank you honey, I promise, once we know you're safe, we will wash it out."

Roxas nods as his mother wanders over to the other servants and ordering them to prep a basin of water.

Roxas sighs, ignoring Maleek and Sora's stares as he wanders over to the mirror and ruffles his spikes. He stares at himself in the mirror, savoring the last few moments of his blonde hair as a servant calls him into the bathing room.

* * *

"Will you not even smile on my birthday?" Roxas asks Maleek as they walk down the wide stairs and towards the grand dining room.

"If my teeth were crimson, and my hair brown, I wouldn't be smiling at all." He says. "Be content with an occasional grimace." Roxas flashes his teeth at Maleek, then closes his mouth as several courtiers strode past them, servants in tow. "I'm surprised you even let her do that."

"It's not so bad. I've been through worse. At least it makes my eyes look better." Roxas takes a piece of his now brown bangs and feels them through his fingers.

Maleek glances sidelong at him. He seemed surprised when Roxas walked out of the bathing chamber with a towel wrapped around his head. And then when he took the towel out to reveal his newly brown hair, his eyes were wide, and his cheeks pink.

"Who knows, maybe some of the men will like brunettes instead." Roxas smiles. "I can tell you do."

Roxas playfully elbows Maleek whose cheeks turn pink and Roxas laughs as he links arms with him.

Still, it isn't until they reach the hallways of the dining room, guards on duty, does Roxas feel his stomach clench. He resists the urge to pull his blue cape up over his now brown spikey hair as the doors open.


	27. Chapter 26

At first, Axel didn't recognize the cute brown-haired boy that walked in with Maleek for breakfast. Axel thought him to be rather adorable as he kept gazing around the room.

That is until he looked over to Axel, and he spotted those eyes. Those beautiful, unworldly eyes with that ring of gold around the pupil. Eyes that Axel would've known anywhere, no matter how much of the shadows, or facepaint or disguise makeup could try to conceal it, Axel will always remember those eyes.

Roxas. It was _Roxas_.

But what . . . what happened to his _hair_?

He walks in with his arm linked with Maleek, wearing a gorgeous delicate blue jacket with a lucid cape fastened to his shoulders as it whispers against the floor.

His cheeks are red and he walks rather to close to Maleek for his liking, and he's trying not to show his teeth. He keeps folding in his lips, but he still laughs as he rounds the table and his eyes finally find Axel. Axel feels his heart leap into his throat.

He automatically rises from his seat as Roxas approaches him, but stops short. He gives a timid smile and shrugs his shoulders. "Hi." He quietly mumbles. Despite his attempt, Axel can see Roxas' teeth are slightly red. He first fear it to be blood, but if that were the case, Roxas wouldn't even be down for breakfast.

Axel's mouth agapes. "Hi." He replies back. His eyes are still wide, eyebrows raised as he stares at Roxas' hair. Admittedly, his eyes glow brighter against the brown, as well as the strikingly blue jacket and cape he wears. "Wow." Axel breathes.

"Do you like it?" Roxas asks, as if completely unaware of the tens of other eyes staring at them. He cringes slightly at Axel as he touches a small spike near his ear.

"You look, different. B-But it's a good different." Axel says.

"You hesitated," Demyx chimes across the table.

"No, I didn't."

He hears Roxas chuckle. "It's fine, Axel."

Axel clears his throat as he motions Roxas to sit. "Uh, may I ask, what exactly brought on this sudden and dramatic change, because I don't believe you did it for surprise sake for your birthday?"

"Uh, well –" Roxas is about to answer when the doors open again and all of the Faceless members stand at attention as Tifa walks into the room. Roxas and his men stand to join them as she rounds her way towards the head of the table. She looks to Roxas and smiles, Roxas returns it with a nod. Once she had seated and permitted the other to sit as well, they begin their breakfast feast.

As servants walk around the tables and conversations float among the air, Roxas feels a slightly poke on his arm. He turns to Vanitas, who is sitting on his right, with a mouthful of pancake dribbling with syrup. Vanitas chuckles as Roxas chews and swallows harshly. He leans in slightly to whisper. "What happened to you? I just saw you this morning?" he asks and then pops a spoonful of white rice in his mouth.

"My mother came in after you left." Roxas replies, carefully weary of Axel sitting on his left.

"And she just told you to dye your hair? Didn't you two end on not-so-good terms?"

"We talked, and she apologized. And then she wanted me to change my hair."

"And you just let her?"

"Yes!" Roxas hisses. "What is so bad about a change in hair color?"

Vanitas leans away. "You just look, different."

"I've already heard it. Look, if it's not a big deal to me, why is it to everyone else?" Roxas grumbles.

"Probably because they thought you'd put up more of a fight." Axel suddenly chimes.

Roxas turns to find Axel biting part of a sausage off of his fork. "I had my arguments, but it's just hair dye. It washes out. Better than when my father shaved my entire head."

"Mmm," Vanitas hums with his mouthful of bacon. "I remember that. You slept on your face for at least a couple weeks."

"Because my father is so careless with his knife." Roxas growls. "Compared to that, this is a blessing."

"I actually think you look good as a brunette, Roxas." Demyx chimes from across the table. Roxas has to slightly angle his chin upwards to peer over a tower of muffins to see him. "Makes your eyes pop out more."

Roxas smiles. "Thank you."

"I admit it is a change, maybe something to add to your new life?" Zack calls from down the table, seated next to Aerith.

"Perhaps." Roxas shrugs. He takes a large spoonful of sugar cubes and plonks them into his porridge.

"Well," Axel sighs. "I suppose it is good to see you embracing change." Axel laces his fingers with Roxas' and lifts his hand. Roxas' cheeks feel warm as he feels Axel's lips kiss the back of his hand. "I'm proud of you."

Roxas smiles. "Thank you." He leans outward to peer at his mother, who thankfully was speaking with another servant, a cup of tea held by her finely manicured nails. "So mother," Roxas softly speaks. Tifa turns her head to him, then quickly back to the servant to dismiss her. "What shall happen to day until the ball tonight? Are there any plans?"

"Whatever you want, my child." She smiles, folding her fingers together, resting her elbows on the table. "Today is your day, and I just want to make sure you enjoy it."

Roxas smiles as he glances at Axel and Vanitas. "I'd like to explore the city." He speaks with an excited breath. "Despite your incredibly spacious household, I still feel rather, cooped up."

"I'd be worried if you didn't. In fact I don't believe you've even properly explored the city. It shall be done. Shall I send a carriage?" she asks.

"I'll be fine." Roxas says. The then turns to Axel when he speaks next, unknowingly setting his hand on Axel's arm. "Oh, maybe Hunter would like to come too. I know he's been wanting some new daggers for a while." Roxas says as he glances around the table, still to find the boy nowhere in sight."

"Where is that little nugget anyway?" Luxord asks. "I haven't seen him for a handful of days now."

"Is he sick?" asks Roxas.

"He didn't recall feeling unwell the last time I trained with him." Xigbar speaks as she takes a sip of his black coffee.

Roxas takes the sudden moment to study his men as this is rather the first time they've all been together since their arrival at the Faceless. Granted they see one another at training, but they're noting more than blur flashes as Roxas constantly spars with the guild masters, Vanitas, and Maleek.

Looking at them now, they all seem much, much healthier since then. They've all gained weight and muscle with the constant training, so much that they're skin seems to glow with health. Roxas didn't realize just how badly he had done taking care of his men until he now finds them smiling and shaped and toned. Xigbar's ponytail seems to be longer, all of their hair does, and Luxord seems to have recently shaved. They all seem brighter now a days, and the small bags under their eyes from days of constant vigilance around the camp seemed to have vanished.

Perhaps he had to be more grateful than he realized. After dinner, Roxas is leaving with Axel and Vanitas at his sides when he hears his mother call. "Roxas."

Axel and Vanitas whirl, their spines straightening as they turn to find the Mistress standing in the doorway with her hands folded in front of her. "I need to speak with you for a moment."

"Of course." Roxas nods to Axel and Vanitas before he walks over to his mother, walking with her inside the now vacant dining hall. The doors close behind them.

Axel still stands by the door even after Vanitas turns away and resumes to his walk. He doesn't make it two steps before he speaks. "I wouldn't advise eavesdropping. She'd figure out you were there in seconds."

Axel turns back to the boy to find him paused and angled at Axel. His white and gold jacket glimmers in the sunlight of the window behind him. He doesn't have a rather pleasant expression on his face, more of a match to his warning than of disdain as Axel normally sees. Or more rather concealed jealousy.

Axel takes a few steps away from the door and towards the boy. Though his fist tingles to punch the smart-mouth kid in the jaw, he simply speaks as quietly as he can. "I don't know if I trust that woman."

"Good, then you're learning." Vanitas says as he starts his own walk again, both of them distancing themselves from the closed double doors.

"You don't either?"

"I am, indifferent." Vanitas huffs softly. "Though I have to admit that there are some, coincidences that line up rather well for her."

"Yu think she's just spoiling Roxas to potentially blind him? From whatever it is she really is." Axel asks. They turn in unison to descend the stairs. Their footsteps muffled.

Surprisingly, this is practically the first conversation they'd have together.

"I wouldn't completely, discard the theory. Though I fear more that Roxas is believing it."

"Are you doubting him?"

"Not everyone is perfect. Both you and Roxas know this."

"No, no I understand. I said the same thing to him. I worry that he is so desperate for a parental figure that he's almost idiotically willing to look past any negative traits she might have."

"Yet at the same time you can't really blame him. Growing up with a father like that, who only sought to him as a weapon?"

Axel is quiet for a moment. "You think she'd try to harm Roxas?" Axel quietly ask, his heart sinking.

"Not quite, or at least not yet. If she had married Cloud long ago, there had to have been reasons. Similar wants and thoughts, or concepts, if that makes sense. They would have both wanted the same thing. And that's what disturbed me the most the moment we had found out she was his mother."

"You think she possesses the same ideas as Cloud?"

"Similar, not the same. Already I can see a plan in her head." Vanitas snarls. "She wants to shower Roxas with love and affection because that's what he's been lacking all his life from a parent. And when she has gained enough of his trust and love, there will be no way he can say no to her."

Roxas will still know the difference between right and wrong. The only good thing Cloud had given him is a strong head and an independent spirit." Axel huffs as they turn another sharp corner. "You saw the way Roxas had strode in the moment he found out about Sora being locked up. I'm sure he doesn't truly trust her. He's just being nice because she's throwing him a party."

"I don't want to doubt Roxas. I've seen enough of his work over the years to know he has a good head on his shoulders." Vanitas sighs. "But I'm just worried that what you had said might be true. Better you told him then I."

"How so?"

"Just, that want. That _need_, that desperation of wanting love from someone of his own blood. I don't want it to blind him to the possibility . . ."

"Well we can't really judge much just on instincts." Axel says. "But, for her sake, she had better not hurt him."

Vanitas looks to the red-haired man as his emerald eyes catch the light of the sun.

"Because she'll have to deal with us?" Vanitas coldly amuses.

Axel doesn't chuckle, or even crack a smile. Instead, Vanitas watches his eyebrows slightly narrow as he speaks. "No, because she'll have to deal with _him_. And what he will do to her, it will make the slaughtering of his nineteen years look merciful."

In both of their hearts, they knew Axel spoke the truth.

Roxas stands outside on the balcony with his mother, the slight chill of the morning still stings his cheeks and his thin cape does little to suppress the shiver running through his shoulders. His mother had called him out for privacy while the servants clean up the dining table.

She stands to his left with her white gloved hands folded out in front of her. She stares down into the gardens where the hedges are bare and covered in a light caking of frost.

"Mom, what's wrong?" Roxas asks.

She lowers her head and Roxas feels his stomach lurch. "It's your friend, Hunter."

Roxas feels his body numb, and he faces his mother. "What happened? Where's the body?" he demands.

Tifa sighs, her breath puffing out in front of her in a cloud of mist. "I had sent him out with two of my trainees on a mission. He seemed skilled enough but . . . but he didn't make it. Roxas, I'm so sorry." Her eyes are gleaming.

Roxas just stares at her with numb shock and grief. He should've been there. _She_ should've consulted him. "You should've told me."

"I had meant to tell you sooner, but you weren't speaking with me." Tifa starts.

"How long ago was this?!" Roxas shouts, slapping his hand against the railing.

"It was while you were away. I needed some other missions done and –"

Roxas scoffs, annoyed and he shakes his head. "You are just stepping left and right aren't you! First, you kidnap my friend and then you go and send off one of _my_ men without consulting me first?! Who do you think you are?!"

"Your mother!" Tifa finally shouts back.

"You may be my mother," Roxas' voice is low, and seethed with anger. "But you are not _their_ leader! I am. And I make the decisions."

"I'm so sorry I had to report this to you on the day of your celebration, but you left me with so little choice."

"So it's my fault? You're the supposed fearless leader of the Faceless, yet you can't come and confront me about a death among me men?" Roxas snarls. He sighs in annoyance and rubs his head as she paces around the remaining space of the balcony. "Why? Why, why do you do this?! The moment I think that I can trust you, you turn around and do something like this!"

"I thought I knew what was best."

"Well you didn't. Obviously."

"Are you going to walk away now?" Tifa asks, her eyes seemingly going distant.

"No, because you brought me out here for more than to just tell this, I hope."

Tifa nods her head. "I've arranged for a service to be held for your friend. It'll start at noon."

Roxas stares at her with that cold distant looks she once saw in Cloud, and her heart aches. He has so many similar features of his father. His glare could melt the snow right now. "Will there be a funeral?"

"They didn't bring back the body." Tifa speaks, her voice tight.

Roxas grips the banister of the balcony, digging his nails into the stone until he feels them crack. If it weren't for their blood ties, and that he doesn't want to be like his father, Roxas would beat Tifa into a bloody pulp. First Sora, now Hunter. And they didn't even have the _decency_ to _bring back the body_!

Even Roxas had to endure the long journey of carrying the dead bodies of his fellow brothers and sisters in crime for days, weeks even. The most trouble was preserving the bodies well enough so that Zexion or any of the other mages in the guild could attempt to refresh the tissue.

Roxas takes a deep breath and counts inside his head. "Roxas," Tifa speaks, and Roxas can sense her going to reach for him. No, he doesn't want her to touch him. Right now she's just as foreign to him as she was eleven years ago. A stranger. If she even tries to touch him, Roxas will pull out his hidden dagger from his boot and shove it into her sternum.

Pushing off the balcony, Roxas turns sharply on his heels and heads towards the balcony door. "We will be at the ceremony. See to it he's remembered properly. I'll pack his things myself."

Without waiting for her to respond, feeling like he's given her the chance to say her important information, Roxas pushes back through the double doors with a loud _thoom_, and the servants squeal and hop out of his way as Roxas makes his way through.

This woman, his mother, had locked up his friend, and then she has the gall to assign his men for missions without consulting his better judgment?! Roxas had seen Hunter with his skills in training. It was clear he wasn't ready to face the action once more without a few more weeks, covert missions maybe, nothing more! Now he's gone and Roxas didn't even know; never got to say goodbye. If he had known, he could've gone with him, he could've protected him. He could've stopped them.

A weight settles heavily on Roxas' chest. How can he call himself a leader when he can't even keep an eye on his own men? Know their whereabouts and their conditions? He swallows back a choke that tightens around his throat. Not anymore. He'll be extra vigilant, check in around with the men every time they're in the same room and order them to come to him with even the slightest uneasiness they might have.

But now, it's time to get out of this castle. He has blood money to spend.

Walking the streets of Traverse Town, Roxas tugs his jacket tight around his shoulders. He wears the outfit Genie had acquired him back in Agrabah, including all of the weapons and the waist-length cloak that billows out behind him.

For the first time in a while, Roxas feels rejuvenated at having his hood down. He's grown so accustomed to wearing it all his life that having it down almost feels like an unspoken violation. Still, it's feels like he's finally accepting his new life as no one is giving him a second glance, well except for courtesans and the average girls of the village. Perhaps Roxas can use this new style to his advantage.

With his hair now brown all the way down to his roots, his blue eyes stand out more, even more the ring of gold around his pupil. He could come off as innocent and give a gentle smile to those who questions him, or as a dark and mysterious danger man. It shouldn't really matter.

Roxas didn't say much to the crew when he had met them outside the castle gates, finding them waiting. He knew he couldn't hide his anger from them as his face seemed locked in a permanent scowl or frown. All he had said is that Hunter had been dispatched on a mission and failed. He didn't say that the Faceless didn't bring back the body, nor that it was his mother's decision without consulting him. Surely they can figure that out on their own.

With Vanitas nowhere in sight, it was Axel – surprisingly to him – that had said he didn't feel like exploring the marketplace. The fact alone that Axel had spoken for him was, different. But Roxas decided to brush it off and bring back some food and possible souvenirs for Vanitas. Perhaps a new hunting knife or a bag of his favorite sweets.

Roxas walks behind Xigbar, his long black and grey ponytail swaying with his opposite steps. Axel is on his right side, Demyx on his left. Roxas' shoulder blades are still sore from the tattoo he had gotten just seconds after he and Axel had spotted the first shop when they entered town. Roxas had dragged Axel with him, leaving the other men to shop as they please. Axel had sat beside Roxas the whole time while he had gotten inked, keeping him occupied with conversation until Roxas finished.

The tattoo is set just below the start of his spine, along his trapezius. It depicts a flock of many birds soaring in a fluid line across his shoulder blades up to the top of his left shoulder. The birds are shaded in black with their wings outspread.

Roxas' left wrist also stings from the Celtic tattoo he had gotten of the Celtic Tree of Life. It was a difficult decision to make, as the artist explained each of the tattoo symbols and their meanings. There was a Shield Knot that Celtic tradition states represents protection, and a Trinity Knot – also known as, Triquetra - where the artists explained is most known for its meaning of trinity. But Roxas settled for the Tree of Life, as its name enough had grasped his heart. According to the Celts, trees play a very important role in lives. Before the creation of the gods, people were said to worship the trees. Some ancients believe the tree represented balance and harmony in life. Other Celts believed that trees symbolized birth, death, and rebirth.

The tattoo itself is a graceful picture designed with delicate lines that go on forever, never stopping to represent no beginning and no end. The lines curl around one another, creating the intertwining roots and branches of the tree.

The idea of rebirth always made Roxas feel, at ease, and this dates back long before he had met Axel. This goes back to his younger years when he was killing at the age of eight. He had always wanted to believe that the person he killed would be reborn into a better life than the one they lived. It was little comfort, but it still worked.

Then his right ring finger aches when he flexes it as he and Axel had decided to get the same tattoo of the Circular Celtic Knot, having it tattooed around their finger to mimic a ring. How they resist a tattoo where the interlacing lines stands for the continuity of everlasting love and binding together or intertwining of two soul or spirits. Axel constantly flexes his finger through the artist told them not to strain the ink.

So when Roxas catches him, she gives the red head a smack on the arm. Axel looks to him and smiles with a soft laugh and lowers his hand. As Demyx and Luxord carry some of Roxas' things that he had purchased, Axel leans in to press his lips against Roxas' brown hair. "That's the most I've seen you get tattooed. How do you feel?"

A little sore, but otherwise fine." Roxas answers, his eyes drifting to Axel's arm, covered in tattoos of sailing ships, beautiful mermaids and foaming waves. "Did all of those hurt?" Roxas innocently asks.

Axe shrugs. "Just depends on where you go. Most of my arm was fine until they started getting close to a vein."

"I was told foot it bad."

"Foot is the _worst_." Axel exaggerates, causing Roxas to laugh. "My brother got one on his foot and he said it was just, _excruciating_."

"You have a brother?" Roxas asks in surprise.

"I didn't tell you?"

"Obviously not."

"Oh, well, yeah. I have a brother. A twin actually." Axel says as he nervously rubs the back of his neck.

"Twin?!" Roxas nearly laughs.

"Yeah, but we haven't had much contact in a while." Axel says, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

The thought almost exciting him to think there's someone else that look like Axel. That could sound like Axel, touch like Axel . . . kiss like Axel. Oh _gods_, what has his mind come to! There's only one Axel for Roxas, and nothing can change that.

"So, does he know about your . . . past?" Roxas asks as he links arms with Axel.

"Uh, yeah. He knows I've been traveling around, he's actually the very first person I go to when I want to sell some of my merchandise."

"Yeah, _merchandise_." Roxas nudges.

Roxas takes a long breath, sniffing, and – is that chocolate? Even though his teeth were fading, Roxas still tries not to smile to widely even when he stops in front of a baker's shop. With his hand still linked with Axel's the red-head hops to a stop as Roxas stares at the display case stocked with chocolate and candies and _oh gods_, hazelnut truffles.

Tugging the red head inside, Axel simply chuckles as Roxas gazes at the candies and sweets lining in the display cases. The men dutifully carry most of the purchases Roxas makes, though he doesn't ask them to, and only he carries the chocolates, which he eats as they stroll around, one after another after another.

Even with his hands full carrying the bag of sweets, Roxas still walks close to Axel as they browse around the marketplace. Around late afternoon is when Axel and Roxas decide to sit at the fountain located at the epicenter of the Town Square. Their bags and boxes are huddled at their feet, and Demyx sprinkles some crumbs forma brown paper bag onto the ground, attracting flock of pigeons.

As Roxas sucks on his fingers to clean off the excess sugar, Axel sits to his right, his hands resting behind him with his head tilted back, enjoying the forty degree weather. "You know your mother is going to kill yu for eating all of that sugar before your birthday ball." He chuckles.

Roxas waves him off. "I'll have the appetite."

"Listen, are you okay?" Axel asks and he can see Roxas stiffen. "If I may ask, what did she wish to talk to you about?"

"I already told you." Roxas says as she swallows the caramel drizzled truffle.

"Yes, but there has to be more that you're not saying."

Roxas smiles at him. "Hm, you're learning. Almost thinking like an assassin." Axel smugly shrugs. Roxas lowers his head and gazes at his shadow. "I'm more upset with her that, she thought that it was her place to send Hunter out when he barely had enough training to be fit for going back out in the field. I mean, I can understand covert missions but nothing that involves fighting. And this isn't me trying to undermine him, but I'm sure even he knew he wasn't ready. My mother probably just scared him into submission."

Axel shifts closer, snaking his hand into Roxas' paper bag of candy from the bakery. Roxas lets him as he sighs. There's a comfortable silence between them as Axel pops the candy in his mouth, and when he swallows does he talk. "Can I be honest with you?"

"I'd be insulted if you weren't."

Axel pauses, licking his bottom lip. "I don't entirely trust, your mother, yet."

"Understandable."

"No, see, I'm worried that, she's playing you." Roxas is silent, but stares at Axel. "Now, please don't get mad, just see where I'm coming from. I'm afraid that all of this spoiling you and cuddling you is just trying to have you, look the other way and not be too suspicious of her."

"After Sora getting captured and the death of Hunter, I can guarantee you she's not playing _me_." Axel cringes when he hears the aggravation in Roxas' voice.

"I'm not trying to start another fight, especially not on your birthday. Just, keep what I had said in mind." Axel says.

Roxas sighs and waves his hand. "Fine." He digs his hand back into the bag and pulls out another chocolate truffle, this one filled with mint flavoring. Roxas pops it in his mouth. It's between his teeth when Axel's long fingers grasp Roxas chin and he leans in, bringing his lips towards Roxas'. He then takes the candy with his own teeth and inhales drawing the candy into his mouth. Roxas face is flushed red, and he stutters as his mind can only gather that Axel just took his piece of candy.

"Hey!" Roxas stutters.

Axel chuckles as she chews the delicacy and swallows. "Yummy."

"That was my candy." Roxas almost whines amusingly.

"Listen," Axel then says, licking his lips. "Do you think you'll be able to leave the ball early?"

"For what?" Roxas stupidly asks as his thoughts can already guess the reason why.

"I have something I wanted to show you. It's my own birthday present to you." Axel smiles. His emerald eyes gloriously shine in the sunlight of the afternoon. His teardrop tattoos help line up his cheekbones, and Roxas can't help but picture him like a sculpted statue with his flawless features. All Roxas wants to do is touch him.

"All right then." Roxas sighs, though he can't fight the smile on his lips.

He keeps his arms linked with Axel as they continue their entire day out in the town noon.

His salary as Traverse Town's Assassin is considerable, and Roxas spends every last copper of it. Shoes, hats, tunics, jackets, weapons, cloaks, music sheets, and books. Books and books and books. So many books that Sora had to bring up another bookcase for his room.

When Roxas returns to his rooms that afternoon, lugging show boxes, colorful bags full of cologne and sweets, and brown paper parcels with the books he absolutely _has_ to read immediately, he nearly drops it all at the sight of Maleek sitting in his foyer. He wears a dark purple tunic under a black leather jacket lined with fur around the collar. Then grey pants that tuck into his black boots.

"Gods above." He says, taking in all of his purchases. Roxas' new and still unnamed dog sits at his feet, Maleek rubbing the dog's ear. She pants with a smile on her face and tilts her head back once Maleek stops petting her.

He doesn't know the half of it. This is just what Roxas can carry. More has been ordered, and more will be delivered soon.

"Well," Maleek says as Roxas dumps the bags on the table, Maleek nearly toppling into a heap of tissue paper and ribbons, "at least you're not wearing the uniform."

Roxas shoots him a glare over his shoulder as he straightens. Still dressed in the attire from Agrabah, a little fitting for the end of winter, but worn in the hope that spring will soon come. Plus, dressing nicely guarantees him the best service in whatever stores he visits. To his surprise, many of the shopkeepers remember him from years ago – and had bought his lie about leaving behind his troubled past to join the Faceless.

"And to what do I owe this pleasure?" Roxas unties his rabbit fur cloak – another gift to himself – and tosses it onto one of the chairs around the foyer table. "Didn't I already see you this morning at breakfast?"

Maleek remains seated, that familiar, boyish grin on his face. "Aren't friends allowed to visit each other more than once a day?"

Roxas stares at Maleek. Being friend with Maleek wasn't something Roxas is certain he can actually _do_. Not when he will always have that gleam in his sapphire eyes – and not when he's the Second-in-Command to his mother's assassin guild.

"You consider me a friend?" Roxas asks as he leans against the table, crossing his arms.

"I don't see why not." Maleek says as she rises to stand. Roxas has to tip his head back to look at him.

"And you're not just doing this because you discovered I'm the son of your Mistress?"

"You could be the son of a High King and I would still treat you the same."

To his surprise, Roxas chuckles and smiles. For some reason, that one sentence makes him feel better. To know that he could be whoever he wanted in the world, and at least Maleek wouldn't really care who he is.

"And, I'm also here to escort you to the temple for the service." Maleek adds as she saunters over to the table.

Roxas lets him trifle through the boxes and bags stuffed with tissue paper. "Sorry to hear you got dumped with escort for me. Even though I don't need it."

"I never said I didn't like it." Maleek look up from under his eyelids, smiling with his white teeth. "Besides, my day wouldn't be made without our engaging conversations."

Roxas folds his lips in, but still he smiles even as he remembers that the temple service for Hunter is at noon. He glances at the clock and realizes he has only thirty minutes to prepare. His heart skips a beat and he quickly rushes to his dressing room. What is he even supposed to wear? It's not exactly a funeral, but should he still wear black to honor the deceased?

Roxas rummages through his lining of clothes, even as he hears Maleek's footsteps approach from behind. "Relax." He chuckles to Roxas. "Sora had already arranged to have your attire ready." He jerks his chin towards the three-paneled mirror where a deep blue tunic with gold embroidery around the lapels and buttons hangs against the mirror, glimmering in the light from the sconces. Then it's a pair of beige trousers and deep brown riding boots.

"Oh, okay." Roxas says. "Excuse me."

Roxas disappears into the chamber and emerges with his outfit on, adjusting his pants and boots. Maleek is still there, strolling around Roxas' bookshelves and brushing his fingers along the spines. Haring the clicking of Roxas' boots, Maleek turns his head and gives Roxas a smile. Roxas would've returned it if not for his heart slowly growing in speed at the thought of going to the temple. He's rarely attended services, as it's usually to mourn the loss of his kills. And the last time Roxas attended one, at the alleged death of his mother, Roxas had actually fallen asleep during the service, resulting in his father punching and slapping him until Roxas had lost a couple of baby teeth.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Yeah." Roxas nods.

Maleek can see Roxas take a deep breath and sigh. He walks over and places a hand on the blonde's shoulder as he straps a simple dagger around his waist. Roxas doesn't startle but slowly looks up towards him. "Please know I'm sorry for your loss."

Roxas gives him a ghost of a smile, and suddenly feels a pinching on his boot. Roxas looks down to find the puppy knowing on the toe of his boot, butt in the air and tail wagging. "Hey, you little nugget." Roxas snipes as he bends down to pick up the puppy. He cradles the dog in his arms, her paws resting on his right shoulder as he tattoo still sends pain through his left when applied with pressure. "Not on my new boots." He kisses the pups head, and is received with affectionate licks.

"Have you named her yet?" Maleek asks as he scratches the dog behind the ear. He holds up a toy in the design of a stuffed duck and the pup lunges her head for the toy.

"No," Roxas exhales. "I can't think of anything appropriate." He takes the toy and lets the pup clamp her mouth on it. She growls and tries to tug it out of Roxas hand.

"What about," he says, tapping his chin. "Gold . . . ie?"

"That's the stupidest name I've ever heard."

"Can you think of something better?"

Roxas releases the toy and examines the pup's soft paws. He squishes the padded foot beneath his thumb. "Artemis." It is the perfect name. In fact, it feels as if the name has existed all along, and he's finally been clairvoyant enough to stumble across it. "Yes, Artemis it is."

"Does it mean anything?" Maleek asks, and the dog raises her head, toy in her mouth to look at him.

"It'll mean something when she hunts down more game than my mother's _purebreds_." Roxas kisses the dog's head and bounces his arms up and down, and Artemis stares up into his eyes with a wrinkled brow. She is absurdly soft and cuddly.

Maleek chuckles. "We'll see." Roxas sets the dog down on the bed. Artemis promptly crawls under the blankets and disappears. "Come on, let's go."

"Very well."

They leave Roxas' chambers and almost naturally Roxas and Maleek links arms as they walk out of the castle and toward the glass temple at the center of the eastern garden.

"Thank goodness your teeth aren't red anymore." Maleek says.

Roxas elbows him, but Maleek sidesteps so all he hits is air. Still, Roxas feels Maleek's hand overlap his own and a chuckle causes his shoulders to bounce. When they approach the temple, Maleek opens the door for Roxas, and they walk inside.

Seated in a pew in the rear of the spacious temple, Roxas keeps his mouth closed to tightly it hurts. He was determined not to fall asleep for this ceremony. This was a member of his own men, and he will not show such disrespect for a fallen brethren.

The temple is a beautiful space, built entirely from glass. The limestone covering the floor is all that remains of the original stone temple, which his mother had destroyed and decided to replace it with the glass structure. Two columns of about a hundred rosewood pews stretch beneath a vaulted ceiling that lets in so much light that no candles are needed during the day. Snow lies piled upon the translucent roof, casting patterns of sunshine throughout. As the walls are also glass, the stained windows above the altar appear to hover in midair.

Roxas stands to peer over the heads of those sitting in front of him. His mother and her members sit in the first pew, a row of guards immediately behind. The guild masters – Terra, Leon and Cid sit on the other side of the aisle, and behind them is Zexion and several others of his men. He doesn't spy Sora, or most of the other servants.

"Sit _down_." Maleek growls, pulling at Roxas' arm. Roxas makes a face and drops onto the cushioned bench. Several people stare at him. They wear gowns and jackets so elaborate that he wonders if he the ball had been moved to lunchtime.

Axel and the rest of the men sit across from his seat, and Roxas can see Vanitas sitting near the aisle. Roxas chuckles. He can tell Vanitas wants to be one of the first to get out of here the moment the ceremony is over. Roxas was seated on the same side as the Faceless members, and keeps in mind of Axel _and_ Vanitas' glances over toward him and Maleek. Though it's clear Maleek actually has enough interest in the ceremony.

The High Priestess walks onto the stone platform and raises her hands above her head the folds of her midnight-blue gossamer robes fall around her, and her white hair is long and unbound. An eight-pointed star is tattooed upon her brow in a shade of blue matches her gown, its sharp lines extending to her hairline. "Welcome all, and may the blessings of the Goddess and all her gods be upon you." Her voice echoes across the chamber to reach even those in the back.

Roxas stifles a yawn. He respects the gods – if they existed, and when it suits him to ask for their assistance – but religious ceremonies are . . . _brutal_.

It has bene years since he's attended anything o this sort, and as the High Priestess lowers her arms and stares at the crowd, the assassin shifts in his seat. It will be the usual prayers, then the prayers for Hunter, then the sermon, then the songs, and then the procession of the gods.

"You're squirming already?" Maleek says under his breath.

"What time is it?" Roxas whispers, and Maleek pinches the blonde's arm.

"Today," the priestess says, "is the day of which we have come to mourn the loss of one of our own. Today is the day on which the Great Goddess has taken back one of her warriors into her kingdom of light. As well, we cherish those we have lost and wish them an everlasting happiness as she welcomes them with her open arms."

A weight presses on Roxas' eyelids. He can see Hunters' familiar old guild cloak, as well as the grey on that symbolized him as a trainee of the Faceless. Roxas can see his teammate's favorite weapons, a dagger and a hunting bow, then vambraces lined with throwing knives. Even that one iron shield Roxas shad given to him in secret of Christmas morning.

Hunter never knew Roxas kept tabs on these types of details. He probably thought Roxas didn't even know his name. But those sparring sessions and small conversations in the dining hall, along with passing glances and hellos in the hall, Roxas does remember. Hunter was one of the few people who treated Roxas like he _wasn't_ the son of a master killer. One of the few people who saw past his threatening exterior, and one of the few who had seen glimpses of who Roxas _really_ is.

Unfortunately, Roxas had woken up so early – and slept so little that . . . Unable to stop himself, Roxas wanders into the Land of Sleep.

"Get up." Maleek snarls in his ear. "Now."

Roxas sits up with a jolt, the world bright and foggy. Several lesser members in his pew laugh silently. Roxas gives Maleek an apologetic look and turns his gaze to the altar. The High Priestess has finished her sermon, and the songs of the dead are over. She only has to sit through the procession of the gods, and then she will be free.

"How long was I asleep?" Roxas whispers. Maleek doesn't respond. "How long was I asleep?" he asks again, and notices a hint of red in Maleek's cheeks. "You were asleep too?"

"Until you began drooling on my shoulder."

"Such a self-righteous young man." Roxas coos, and Maleek pokes Roxas' leg.

"Pay attention."

A choir of priestesses step off the platform. Roxas yawns, but nods with the rest of the congregation as the choir gives their blessings an organ sounds, and everyone leas to stare down the aisle for the procession of the gods.

The sound of pattering footsteps fills the temple, and the congregation stands. Each blindfolded child is no more than ten years old, and though they look rather foolish dressed in the costumes of the gods, there is something charming about it. Every year, nine children are chosen. If a child stops before you, you receive the blessings of the god and the small gift the child carries as a symbol of the god's favor.

Cageious, God of the Hunt, stops at the front row near Rikku, but then moves to the right, across the aisle, to give the miniature gold arrow to Namine.

Clad in glistening wings, Lunam, God of Love, strode past Roxas. He crosses his arms.

_What a foolish tradition_.

Luchel, the God of War, approaches. Roxas shifts from one foot to the other, wishing he hasn't demanded that Maleek give him the aisle seat. To his dread and dismay, the girl stops before him and removes the blindfold.

She is a pretty little thin: her blond hair hangs in loose curls, and her brown eyes are flecked with green. The girl smiles at Roxas and reaches to touch the assassin's forehead. Roxas' back begins sweating as he feels hundreds of eyes upon him. "May Luchel, the God of War and bearer of courage, bless and keep you this year. I bestow upon you this silver sword as a symbol of his power and good graces." The girl bows as she extends the slender blade. Maleek prods Roxas' back and Roxas grabs the sword. "Divine blessings to you," the girl says, and Roxas nods his thanks. He grips the sword as the girl bounds away. It can't be used, of course. But it is made of solid silver. Roxas exhales slowly and sits down with the rest of the crowd.

He lays the sword across his lap. A shiver runs up his spine as he swears he feels a brush of cold air kiss his face. He looks up and around and finds everyone else settling in for the closing.

"You're lucky, I hear Luchel's blessings never fail." Maleek says. Roxas stare at him for a moment. Did he look different? Something has changed in his face. Nudging him with an elbow, Roxas grins.

Silence falls upon the temple as a woman floats across the platform to where a massive harp and a man with a violin wait. from his pew he can see just enough of the woman to decipher that she wears a long green dress – no petticoats, no corsets, no ornamentation save for the woven leather belt circling her narrow hips – and that her red-gold hair is unbound. She curtsies to the crowd. When she takes her seat before the green-and-gold harp, the specters are waiting.

The woman nods to the reedy violinist, and her long, white fingers begin plucking out a melody on the harp. After a few notes of rhythm establishes itself, following by the slow, sad sweep of the violin. They weave together, blending, lifting up, up, up, until the woman opens her mouth.

And when she sings, the whole world fades.

Everyone is so still that it seems as if everyone's had stopped breathing.

Her voice is soft, ethereal, the sound of a lullaby half-remembered. The songs she sings, one by one, hold Roxas in place. Songs of distant land, of forgotten legends, of lovers forever waiting to be reunited.

Not a single soul stirs in the hall even the other priestesses remain along the walls and in doorways and alcoves. The woman pauses between songs only long enough to allow a heartbeat of applause before the harp and violin begin anew, and she hypnotizes them all once more.

And then she looks towards the crowd, towards Roxas. "This song," she says softly, "is in honor of the esteemed heir of Mistress Tifa, who invited me here tonight."

Roxas chokes back a gasp. Or is it a sob, a hiccup? He doesn't know. Just some weird snorting sound that at the back of his throat that briefly makes Roxas sound like a pig.

This song is an ancient legend – and old poem, actually. One Roxas hasn't heard since childhood, and never set to music.

He hears it now as if for the first time: the story of a warrior-prince blessed with a horrible, profound power that is sought by kings and lords in every kingdom. While they used him to win wars and conquer nations, they all feared him – and kept their distance.

The beautiful singer goes on, spinning the ageless story of the years that the warrior-prince served those kings and lords, and the loneliness that consumes him bit by bit. And then one day, a knight comes, seeking his power on behalf of his queen. As they traveled to his kingdom, his fear turned to love – and he saw the prince not for the power he wielded, but for the man beneath. Of all the kings and queens and emperors and empresses who had come courting him with promises of wealth beyond imagining, it is the knight's gift, of seeing him for who he was – not _what_ he was – that won her heart.

Roxas didn't even know he began crying. Somehow he skips a breath, and it sets his lips wobbling. He shouldn't cry, not here, not with these people around him. But then a warm calloused hand grasps his behind the cover of the pews, and Roxas turns his head to find Maleek looking at him. He smiles slightly – and Roxas knew he understood.

So Roxas looks at the Faceless' Second in Command and smiles back.


	28. Chapter 27

**~ WARNING! ~ **

* * *

The dreams still haunt Cloud whenever he looks into the darkness of shadows, or even just the black canvas of his own eyelids. He can't stop seeing Roxas as a child; so young so innocent and full of life. Something he had nearly forgotten the boy was since seeing him so . . . different, grown up, supposedly.

Cloud squints his eyes as he gazes out from the balcony connected to his room at the safe house in the Town of Hallows Eve. A chill of the wind ruffles his blonde spikes as he leans on the banister, his forearms long since growing used to the chilling metal. Clasped between his fingers is a bottle of wine of which he demanded be brought to him before he reached his rooms.

It was, and even left in a bucket of ice with lemons and limes. Cloud simply snatched the bottle, popped the cork and chugged down half the bottle before he came up for a breath. he now stands out on the balcony with only a sleeveless tunic on, his uniform sprawls across the bed, his cloak simply discarded where he left it.

His men had had little luck tracking down Roxas and his friends, or arguably they could be searching for the Faceless, since they're his only source of refuge. Only stable fact he has is that they are stationed in Traverse Town.

There wasn't much else, and stories of their headquarters kept shifting back and forth between a luxurious castle of glass, to a hidden labyrinth of sewer deeming to be habitual. Each time, Cloud rubbed his forehead as a pounding headache always formed at the men's uselessness. Usually that is cured with a couple swigs of brandy.

But even that has become uncomfortable with the gloriously painful split lip and scraped cheekbone he'd earned last night in of the city's tavern.

Cloud groans as he surveys the street forty feet below. He knew the guards patrolling it by now – had marked their faces and weapons, just as he did with the guards atop the high castle walls. He'd memorized their rotations, and how they opened up three massive gates that lead to the castle.

While Hollows Eve is cleaner than Twilight Town and has plenty of wealth spread between the upper and lower classes, it is a capital city all the same, with slums and back alleys, whores and gamblers – and it hasn't taken too long to find its underbelly.

On the street below, three of the market guards pause to chat, and Cloud leans forward even more. Like every guard in this kingdom, each is clad in light armor and bears a good number of weapons.

Cloud tenderly prods his split lip and frowns at the market guards, the movement making his mouth hurt even more. He did deserve that particular blow in the brawl hje had provoked in last night's tavern – he kicked a man's balls into his throat, and when he had caught his breath, he'd been enraged, to say the least. Lowering his hand from his mouth, he observes the guards for a few more moments.

Dredging up some semblance of annoyance, Cloud sticks out his tongue. At the guards, at the market, at the hawk on a nearby chimney, at the castle and the royalty who lived inside it.

A cooling breeze pushes past, bringing with it the spices from the vendors lining the nearby street – nutmeg, thyme, cumin, lemon verbena. Cloud inhales deeply, letting the scents clear his head. The pealing of bells floats down from one of the neighboring mountain towns, and in some square of the city, a minstrel band strikes up a merry midday tune.

He couldn't really bring himself to care much about the search. Not because he's slowly giving up, but nothing seems to really matter unless it yielded any useful results. The only thing that the men had been able to detect is an assassination of a popular tailor, whose head had been decapitated and the body and his wife have been discovered at the bottom of an ocean; only to be revealed when the corpses got caught in a fisherman's net.

Something about that just screamed Roxas, and Cloud knew it. But he didn't have time to ponder over it as soon, about three day later, a body was discovered in the slums of Traverse Town. Cloud had traveled to examine the body himself, and was astonished by the fact that the corpse had made even his stomach churn with nausea.

The boy's eyes were locked in a state of horror, dried blood dribbling from his nose and ears, mouth open wide as if he was in the middle of screaming. Cloud nearly dropped to his knees when he had recognized the silver hair speckled with black tips, and the eyes being two different colors – blue, and then brown.

Hunter. It was Hunter.

Cloud instantly knew that Roxas wouldn't have done this sort of thing to the boy, as Hunter was one of the few people Roxas actually liked around the guild back in Twilight Town. It was as if the boy had been abused for several days demonstrated by how taught the skin was around his ribs and how sickly thin his arms had been.

It was then that Seifer One had come to Cloud with news about who is in charge of the Faceless, along with the explanation of the body. And by the gods . . .

Cloud takes another long gulp of the wine in his hand.

Tifa Lockheart, his former wife and Guild Partner, was in charge of the fast-growing assassination group in nearly the entire continent, and now it is alleged that she has his son. Cloud cannot allow this. He needs to get there before she can plant any kind of false evidence in Roxas' head. Because that dammed bitch is smart at using emotions to her advantage. Because Cloud knows that Roxas will believe it after everything he's done to the boy. Precisely why Cloud had tried to desperately to train Roxas to forget that sort of thing, and as to why he was so furious to see all his years of training wasted away on some slum sailor.

But Tifa isn't at all what she is. Cloud still doesn't regret the day he had kicked her out of the Guild and took back their wedding ring as well as his falsely claimed love to her. Telling Roxas she had been dead was for his own good, as well as everything else related to her death. Cloud refused to tell Roxas about her because he only assumed that Roxas would go after her, make her pay for what she had done, since it's what Cloud had taught him.

But Roxas didn't stand a chance against him, and he can already see Tifa's plan in place and how she will use everything Roxas has against him. Can Roxas find a way out? Cloud hopes so, he has enough faith in his son to hope that Roxas won't forget his cruel, yet helpful training nonetheless.

But still what honestly terrifies Cloud the most, is the news of her discovery of the serum that Cloud had created while back in Twilight Town. At first, Cloud had thought that he could use the fear as a way to control the citizens on Twilight, and make them beg him to give them the antidote as a trade for him being proclaimed the new ruler.

But once demonstrated on actual people, Cloud was surprised at the fact that Roxas had emerged from the haze, sane and only with nausea and gleaming with sweat. Not many others were as strong willed Roxas was. This was proven when Cloud had brought in one male and female of the village, of proper age and had injected them with the fear serum.

At first their reactions were similar to Roxas, plenty of screaming, begging, crying; of which Cloud could talk to them and they would beg for him to stop, it seemed to work.

However, nearly thirty seconds in, both the man and woman seemed to instantly lose their minds. They were unresponsive to Cloud and his voice, completely blocking him out with feral screams and violent thrashing. The male had broken free of his chains and had resulted to bashing his skull in to stop the hallucinations and nightmares. His blood smearing the wall as he slumped to the ground. The woman had had horrid nose bleeds and she had soiled herself from whatever it was she was seeing soon she became too lost that even the antidote couldn't calm her enough for her to see she was with really people.

This was too risky and would only result in an unneeded genocide of the city, of which would have no further use with little to no citizens.

But Tifa, if she's working on it, if word gets to her that the fear results failed – which Cloud knows it will – she will find alternatives. What they will be, he honestly doesn't want to know. Though he still remembers how she had always wanted to try and make people better than how they are. Make them more into deadly soldiers than simple guild members. Cloud had always seen his men as soldiers, warriors.

And Tifa with her rather, interestingly obsession with the elven kind of the realm . . .

Cloud is still piecing together possible outcomes for Tifa's serum experiment and her possible strategies of kingdom domination when someone grabs Cloud from behind and presses something cold and reeking against his nose and mouth, and the world goes black.

* * *

Yards of silk, clouds of powder, brushes, combs, pearls, and diamonds glisten before Roxas' eyes. As Sora arranges the last strand of Roxas' hair to sweep smoothly around his face, secures a mask over his eyes and nose, and places a small crystal crown on his head, Roxas can't help but feel, despite himself, like a prince.

Sora kneels to polish the buckle of crystal on Roxas' silver boots. "If I didn't know better, I'd call myself an Elven King." Roxas breathes.

"I'd barely recognize you." Sora smiles.

Roxas smiles as Sora clasps a long, flowing silver cape to his shoulders. This would be his first ball where he isn't there to kill someone. True, he is mostly going to ensure his mother doesn't harm anyone else. But . . . a ball is a ball. Maybe if he is lucky, he can dance with everyone a little.

He turns to face Sora. "I wish you could come, Sora."

"As do I, Roxas. But I'm afraid I can't afford to leave." Roxas eyes small cuts scabbing over on Sora's wrist. Watching his gaze, Sora rubs his wrists and turns to put away the brushes and combs. Roxas strides towards the mirror, Sora bustling after him. Standing before his reflection, Roxas wonders if he is seeing correctly. "This is the most stunning outfit I've ever worn. Ever." Roxas admires, his eyes filling with light.

It is not pure white, but rather a greyish offset, and its jacket and vest is encrusted with thousands of minuscule crystals that remind Roxas of the surface of the sea. Swirls of silk thread on the wide cape make the rose-like designs that can have passed for a work of any master painter. A border of ermine line the neck and provide slender sleeves that only cover his shoulders. Tiny diamond droplets fall from his epaulettes, and his brown hair is so gracefully swept in one direction, strands of pearls woven into the lining of a sash draping around his waist. His grey silk mask has been secured tightly against his face. It isn't fashioned after anything, but the delicate crystal and pearl whorls have been crafted by a skilled hand.

"You can win the heart of a queen, looking like that," says Sora. "Or perhaps a princess will do."

"Where in the world did you find this?" Roxas murmurs.

"Don't ask questions." chuckles the boy.

Roxas smirks. "Are you sure you don't want to come?" He wonders why his heart now feels too large for his body, and why he is so unstable in his shoes. He has to remember why he is going – it's his birthday celebration but should still keep his wits about him.

"I'll, at least try to visit through some of the servant doors." Sora promises.

The clock strikes one o'clock, already an hour overscheduled, and Sora glances towards the doorway, giving Roxas the opportunity to slip a knife down each of his boots without being noticed.

"Gods help me," Sora mutters as hurries towards Roxas. "Go!" he cries, herding Roxas towards the door to the hall. "Go, you'll be late!" Roxas does his best to gather his cape, of which Sora easily scoops up and hands to Roxas. "Your mother won't be pleased if you're late!"

"Not like it matters. The party doesn't start until I arrive."

"All the more reason why you need to move!"

Roxas pauses in the doorway, nodding at the five guards who are posted outside, then looks back at Sora. "Thank you."

"No more dawdling!" the servant boys cries. "Hope you spend some quality time with your, partner." Sora slyly smiles and almost knocks Roxas off his feet as he pushes him out the doorway and slams it shut.

Roxas turns to the guards. "You look nice." one of them – Myde – says shyly. "Excited for your birthday?" grins another. "Save a dance for me, will you?" the third adds. Not one of them questioned him.

Roxas smiles as he takes Myde's arm as he extends it to him. Roxas tries not to laugh when he puffs out his chest. But as they near the Great Hall and the sounds of a waltz can be heard, a swarm of bees takes flight in his stomach. He's played this part in the past, but it always ended in killing a stranger. He can't forget about Axel's request. He had stopped by Roxas' chambers while Roxas was still unpacking all of his things and had told Roxas not to eat too much while at the party, and to wait ten minutes after the party had ended to come back out and meet him in the foyer.

The red-and-gold glass doors appear, and he can see the wreaths and candles that bedeck the massive hall. It would've been easier if he could've slipped into the ball through a side door and remain unnoticed, but besides that he hasn't had the time to go exploring through the secret tunnels, it is _his_ birthday celebration, and he is the guest of honor and most importance. Myde soon stops and bows. "This is where I leave you." He says as seriously as he can, though he keeps looking at the ball that lies at the foot of the stairs. "Have a lovely time, Master Roxas . . . and a Happy Birthday."

"Thank you, Myde." Roxas feels the urge to vomit and run back to his rooms. Instead, he graciously nods his farewell. He just has to make it down the stairs, and finds a way to convince his mother to let him go. Then he can spend his time with Axel as he's hoping.

His shoes seem frail, and Roxas takes a few steps back, ignoring the guards at the door as he lifts his feet high and set them down to test the strength of the shoes. When he is assured that not even a jump through the air can make them slip, he approaches the top of the stairs.

Tucked into his boots, the knife pokes his skin. He pray to the Goddess, to every god he knew, to the heavens, to whatever is responsible for his fate, that he won't have to use it.

He briefly remembers a story similar to this. It was something he had read in Ventus' fairytale book. Roxas chokes. It told about a young woman who was abused by her step-sisters and step-mother after the death of her widowed father. She worked as a slave around her own home while her family lived in luxury. When the chance came to come to a royal ball, despite her step-mother flooding the girl's schedule with chores and sisters running her dress, her fairy godmother had granted her a gorgeous gown and carriage ride, only to have the spell broken by midnight.

But for Roxas, there is no time limit. He still has the book tucked away in his nightstand. Entombed at the very bottom, buried beneath a few folds of clothing.

Roxas squares his shoulders and steps forward.

When the crowd comes into view, the hall nearly falls silent.

_By the gods_. Axel nearly drops his drink as he sees Roxas Skyes atop the stairs. Even with the mask, he recognized him. Roxas might have his faults, but he never did anything half-heartedly. He's outdone himself with that jacket. He was absolutely _stunning_.

He couldn't tell is it was a dream or reality until several heads, then many, turn to look. Though the waltz is playing, those not dancing quieted themselves as the masked boy squares his shoulders and takes a step, then another. His cape is made of stars plucked from the sky, and the whorls of crystals in his grey mask glitter.

"Who is _that_?" breathes a young courtier beside him.

Roxas looks at no one as he descends the staircase, and even Tifa stands to see her son arrive, Maleek also shifting from foot to foot.

_Walk to him. Take his hand_. But Axel's feet are leaden, and he can do nothing but watch him. His skin flushes beneath his small black mask. He doesn't know why, but seeing Roxas makes him feel like a man. Roxas is something out of a dream – a dream in which he is not a despicable sailor, but a noble worthy of a creature of such beauty. Roxas reaches the bottom of the stairs, and Axel takes a step forward.

But someone has already arrived, and Axel clenches his jaw tight enough for it to hurt as Roxas smiles and bows to Maleek. The Second in Command, who hadn't bothered to wear a mask, extends his hand. Roxas only stares at Maleek with those starlit eyes, and his long white fingers float through the air to meet Maleek's. The crowd begins chattering as Maleek leads Roxas from the stairs, and they disappear into the throng. Whatever conversation they are about to have, it had better be important.

"Please," says another courtier, "tell me that that stunning boy isn't already spoken for."

"With that right-hand man of the Faceless?" says the courtier who had spoken earlier. "Why would a gorgeous thing like that marry someone like that?" Remembering who stands beside him, the man glances at Axel, who is still staring, wide-eyed, at the stairs. "Who is he? Do you know?"

"Yes, I do." whispers Axel, and walks away.

The waltz is driving and so loud Roxas has difficulty hearing himself think as Maleek pulls him towards one of the long, white cloth covered tables lined with endless amounts of food. Not surprisingly, he didn't wear a mask – it would've been sill for him. Which made the awe on his face all too visible.

"Well," he breathes with a laugh. "You certainly know how to make an entrance."

"I should. It is my birthday, after all." Roxas smiles as Maleek releases his hand so he can take a small cracker and dip it into a pinkish-red sauce sprinkled with minced tomatoes. "Not to mention I'm the son of the Queen of the Underworld." He takes a bite of the cracker and the heat of the spices tickle his taste buds. "I need to look presentable."

His mother, of whom is sitting next to a lovely young woman, occasionally glances in Roxas' direction.

Maleek chuckles as he takes a small finger food sandwich and bites into it delicately. Roxas meanwhile scans the room, hoping that he'll soon find Sora walking in and out through the servant's doors. Surely with him being Roxas personal servant, they have to allow hi o do some things, even if Sora isn't one to use power to his advantages. One of the few things Roxas adores about him.

"Expecting someone?" Maleek asks.

"I'm hoping Sora will be able to come, if not with me, than at least I can catch glimpses of him from the sides."

"You seem so closely bonded with the boy already. Might I ask what had brought on your sudden friendship?" Maleek helps himself to a glass of wine, the liquid clear and bubbling up from the base of the glass.

Roxas shrugs as he plucks a frosted cupcake flower from an arrangement of the sweets, slurping off the frosting. "He reminds me of someone I lost." He bluntly says.

The answer takes Maleek by surprise, but Roxas only smiles. "Didn't expect you to be so up front."

"Guess that just means I'm comfortable around you." Roxas smiles.

"Well then I'm honored." Maleek reaches over and smoothly takes another drink from the tray of a servant walking by. She doesn't stumble and Maleek doesn't spill a single drop as he hands the glass of wine to Roxas. He takes it as Maleek raises his glass. "To you."

Keeping his chuckle quiet, Roxas rise his own, and the glasses clink together softly. "To a better life."

After a sip of unison, Roxas returns to the crowd, Maleek following behind him. "Have you been able to train with the boy yet?"

"No," Roxas sighs with frustration. "I haven't had the time. Which I feel bad for considering his hopes and the promise that I had made with my mother."

"Don't worry, it's been busy, I'm sure he understands."

Roxas has been to masked balls before, but there is still something unnerving about not being able to see the faces of those around him. Most of the court and his men, Vanitas excluded, wear masks of varying sizes, shapes, and colors – some of simple design, others elaborate and animal-shaped. Namine stands next to his mother, sitting on her throne, wearing a gold-and-turquoise mask with a lotus motif. They appear to be engaged in a professional conversation, and the guards stand to the side of the dais, already looking bored.

Rather than sit on the smaller throne chair beside his mother, Roxas much rather prefers to consider himself one of the many other men and women around. Normal and bland. Besides, his mother can use the throne to meet with one of her clients instead.

Maleek keeps close to Roxas as he finds an empty spot in the crowd and stops. It is a good vantage point. He can see everyone from here – the dais, the main stairs, the dance floor . . .

Zack is dancing with a small brunette with outrageously large breasts that he takes no pains to avoid glancing at every so often. Hadn't he noticed Roxas' arrival? Even Lexaeus had seen him when Maleek led him to the food.

Across the room, Roxas meets Luxord's eyes. He is flirting with a young woman wearing a dove mask, and he raises his glass in salute before turning back to the girl. He's opted for a blue mask that conceals only his eyes.

"Well, try not to have too much fun." Maleek says beside him, crossing his arms.

Hiding his smile, Roxas crosses his arms as well and begins his vigil.

An hour later after brushing kisses with everyone, making his greeting to all of his men still accounted for – save for Zexion, whom Demyx says didn't wish to attend and yet sends his regards, and politely taking anyone's offer to dance for one song only, Roxas is beginning to curse himself for a being a fool. If this was the life of the royalty, he did not wish to marry a princess, anytime soon.

Roxas' face burns with shame beneath his mask. He still has barely spoken to Axel even though he was the first person Roxas spotted from the top of the stairs when he entered. His mother still sits in her throne, talking with guests who approach her. Roxas smoothes the sash around his waist, frowning slightly. Maleek remains beside him, saying nothing. Tough he conversed with anyone else who had approached them, he mostly acted as Roxas' personal security.

Aerith has been speaking with his mother for some time, but Roxas straightens when she rises from her seat beside Tifa, the guards snapping at attention. She bows her head to Tifa, the light of the chandeliers making her mask glisten, and then strides off the dais.

Roxas feels each of his heartbeats hammering in his veins as Aerith weaves through the crowd, the guards close behind – and halt in front of Roxas and Maleek.

"You look incredible, Roxas." Aerith says as she gingerly takes Roxas' wrists with gentle touch of a butterfly.

"As do you." Roxas smiles. "Are you enjoying the ball?"

Aerith plays with a fold in her dress. And, from the look of the rich blue fabric, it is probably a gift from his mother. "Yes, but I'm not feeling well," she says. "I'm going back to my rooms."

Roxas gives her a nod. "I hope you feel better. Thank you so much for coming." Aerith gives a bit of a stiff nod as she stares at Roxas for a long moment. Her eyes shine with what seems like pain, and then leaves. Roxas watches her walk up the stairs, and doesn't' tear his gaze away until the woman is gone.

Maleek clears his throat. "Do you want to tell me what that was all about?"

"I would if in knew." Roxas replies. Something seemed off about Aerith, though Roxas can only hope that it was her feminine jealousy of watching Zack endlessly dance with so many of the girls at the ball. He hasn't been so blind. He's seen them exchanging glances as well as Zack's whispered words at the meals that cause her to giggle and turn her cheeks pink.

Soon the knife in his boots feel like a dead weight.

"What's wrong?" Maleek presses.

Roxas lifts his chin. "With you scowling at everyone, no one will ask me to dance anymore.

Maleek's brows rise. "I'm not scowling at everyone." Even as he says it, Roxas spots him frowning at a passing courtier who looks too long in Roxas' direction.

"Stop it!" Roxas hisses. "No one will continue asking me to dance if you keep doing that!"

Maleek gives him an exasperated loo and strides off. Roxas follows him to the border of the dance floor. "Here." Maleek says, standing at the edge of the sea of swirling gown. "If anyone wants to ask you to dance, you're in plain sight."

From this spot Roxas can also still make sure no one decides to rip out a dagger into the crowd. And as if taking the clue, Vanitas suddenly parts his way through a gathering of girls who giggle and bat their eyelashes behind their lace fans, though he offers little attention. He smiles as he approaches. He's even more handsome when dressed in formal clothing. An expertly tailored tunic and pants, knee-high boots, a heavy cloak. None of it _screams_ wealth, but Roxas can tell it is all expensive. The appeal seems to be more ruggedly handsome.

The broad, muscled shoulders and powerful frame; the knowing smile, even is beautiful face radiates with a sense of maleness that has Roxas struggling to remember he's spoken for.

"Nice to see your delving in the luxury." Vanitas smiles.

Roxas shakes his head and clears his throat. "At least I'm not sitting in the throne all evening. If that's the life of the royalty, then it's no wonder why they're so easily targeted."

He chuckles as he sets his hands into his pockets. They both continue to watch the crowd before Roxas asks Maleek. "Would you like to dance with me?"

Maleek laughs. "With you? No."

Roxas looks to the floor, his chest tight. "You needn't be so cruel about it."

"Cruel? You want to talk about cruel? Your mother has been sitting over there for hours and you haven't even bothered to greet her."

"I gave her a passing glance."

"Coward."

Roxas' eyes harden. "If she hadn't made such stupid mistakes than I would've greeted her properly. We're one again walking on thin ice."

Maleek is silent, glimpsing at Vanitas who has a hand on the hilt of a polished sword strapped to his waist, his back resting against one of the marble columns. Sighing through his nose, Maleek says. "If _she_ wasn't here, I would have said yes. You know, she doesn't prefer companionships among members. You and your pirate lover are an acceptation."

"I can easily arranged her disappearance, you know." Maleek shakes his head as he adjusts the lapel on his red cloak. Just then Axel waltzes by, sweeping a burette with him. He doesn't even glance at Roxas.

"Anyway," Maleek adds, jerking his chin at Axel, then his eyes to Vanitas. "I think you have far more attractive suitors vying for your attention."

Roxas glares at him, but Vanitas only shrugs his shoulders, letting the comment wash off him like a river over stone. "I'm boring company to keep. I know."

"I don't mind being here with you."

"I'm sure you don't." Vanitas says dryly, though he meets Roxas' stare.

"I mean it. Why aren't _you_ dancing with anyone? Aren't there ladies whom you like?"

"I'm the former member of an assassination faction – I'm not exactly a catch for any of them." There is some sorrow in his eyes, though it is well concealed.

"Are you mad? You're better than everyone in here. And you're – you're very handsome." Roxas says, taking Vanitas' hand in his free one. He ignores Vanitas as he presses his lips into a flat line. After that comment, Roxas is defiantly going to tease him. Truth be told, there is beauty in Vanitas' face – and strength, and honor, and loyalty. Roxas stops hearing the crowd, and his mouth becomes dry as Vanitas stars at him. How had he missed it for so long?

Roxas tightens his grasp. "Why, if I wasn't –"

"Why aren't you two dancing?"

Vanitas drops Roxas' hand. Roxas has difficulty turning away from him. "And with whom would I dance with, Axel?"

Axel is alarmingly handsome in his pewter tunic. One might say it matches Roxas' suit. "You look radiant." He says. "And you look radiant as well, Vanitas." Axel winks at the boy. Then Axel's gaze meets Roxas, and Roxas' blood turns into shooting stars. "Well? Do I need to lecture you about how stupid it was not to greet me when you walked in, or can I just ask you to dance with me instead?"

"I don't think that's a good idea." Maleek says.

"Why? They ask in unison. Axel steps a little closer to Roxas. Even though he is ashamed of himself for ignoring his mother on his birthday celebration that she had arranged, knowing that Vanitas and Axel were getting along makes the misery worth it.

"Because it attracts too much attention, that's why." Roxas rolls his eyes, and Maleek glares at him. "Do I have to remind you who you are?"

"No, because I'm reminded everyday with those wanted posters for my head." Roxas retorts. Maleek's sapphire eyes darken. What is the point in being nice to Roxas is he is only going to insult him the next moment?

Vanitas then walks up and puts a hand on Maleek's shoulder and gives the young man a charming smile. "Relax, Maleek." He says. Roxas can feel Axel's hand slip to rest on his back, his fingers grazing the bottom on his spine. "Just take the night off." Axel turns Roxas from the Faceless assassin. "It'll do you some good." Vanitas says as he angles him way from the two, though the merriness fades from his tone.

"I'm getting a drink." mutters Maleek, and walks away. Roxas watches the Faceless member for a moment. He then look to Vanitas, who offers Roxas a wink as he resumes to leaning against the marble column.

Axel caresses Roxas' back, and he looks at the red-head. Roxas' heart jump into a gallop, and Maleek and Vanitas dissolve from his thoughts, like dew beneath the morning sun. Roxas feels had for forgetting them – but . . . but . . . Oh, he wants Axel, he can' deny it. He _wants_ Axel.

"You look incredible." Axel says quietly, running an eye over Roxas in a way that makes Roxas' ears burn. I haven't been able to stop staring at you."

"Oh? And here I thought you hadn't even noticed me." Roxas purrs.

"Maleek got three first when you arrived. And besides, I had to work up the nerve to approach you." Axel grins. "You're very intimidating. Especially with the mask."

"And I suppose it didn't help that you had a line of ladies waiting to dance with you."

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Roxas' heart tightens, and he realizes it isn't the answer he's been hoping for. What _did_ he want from Axel?

Axel held out his hand, inclining his head. "Dance with me?"

Was there music playing? Roxas had forgotten. The world has shrunk into nothing, dissolved by the golden glow of candles. But there are his feet, and here is his arm, and his neck and his mouth. Roxas smiles and takes Axel's hand, still keeping one eye on the ball around them.

He is lost – lost in a world of which he'd always dreamed. Roxas' body is warm beneath his hand, and the blonde's fingers are soft around his. He spins Roxas and leads him about the floor, waltzing as smoothly as he can. Roxas doesn't falter a single step, nor does he seem to care about the many angry female faces that watch as dance after dance passes and they don't switch partners.

Of course, it isn't polite for Roxas – a princely figure at the moment – to dance with only one partner, but he can't focus on anything beyond his partner and the music that carries them onward.

"You certainly have a lot of stamina." Roxas says. When had they last spoken it could have been ten minutes or an hour ago. The masked faces around them blur together.

"While some parents hit their children, mine also punished me with dancing lessons."

"Then you must've been a very naughty boy." Roxas glances around the ball, as if he is looking for something – or someone.

"You're gracious with your compliments tonight." Axel twirls Roxas, the folds of his cape sparkle underneath the chandelier.

"It's my birthday." Roxas says. "I might as well be kind to everyone else since they're willingly nice to me." A flash of what he could have sworn is pain shines in his eyes, but it is gone before he can be certain.

Axel catches the assassin around the waist, his feet moving to the beat of the waltz. "And how's your new roommate?"

"Oh, she hid under my bed, then in the dining room, which is where I left her."

"You locked the dog in your dining room?"

"Should I have kept her in my bedroom, where she can ruin the carpets? Or in the gaming room, where she might eat the chess pieces and choke?"

"Perhaps you should've sent her to the kennels, where the dogs belong."

"I couldn't think of sending her back to that wretched place!"

Axel suddenly feels the urge to kiss him – hard – upon the mouth. And this – what he felt, it is so real. Because once the ball is over, Roxas will still go with him in the middle of the night for his surprise he had taken his delicate time to prepare.

Axel holds Roxas closer. Everyone transforms into mere shadows on the wall.

Frowning, Vanitas watches the pirate dance with the assassin. He wouldn't have danced with Roxas anyway. And he is glad he hadn't worked up the nerve to ask him, not after seeing the color that Maleek's face turned upon discovering the assassin decked in that silvery mist-like attire.

A courtier named Ingus, steps beside Vanitas. "I thought he was with Maleek."

"Who? Roxas?"

"So that's his name! I was wondering when we would soon meet the son of the Dark Mistress."

"Yes," says Vanitas. He watches as Axel dips Roxas, watches the way Roxas' lips widen in a smile and his eyes burn with light as Axel says something. Even with the mask on, Vanitas can see the happiness written across his face. "Is _he_ with him?"

Vanitas decides it's probably best that he doesn't mistakenly gossip with the many strangers of the ball. "Roxas belongs to himself, and no one else."

"So he's not with him."

"It's not my place to tell."

Ingus shrugs. "I suppose not."

"What do you mean?" Vanitas has the sudden urge to strangle him.

"Because it looks like they're in love with each other." He says and walks away.

Vanitas' eyes lose focus for a moment. Then Roxas laughs, and Axel keeps staring at the assassin. The pirate has not taken his eyes off Roxas. Axel's expression is full of – something. Joy? Wonder? His shoulder are straight, his back erect. He looks like a man. Like a king.

Axel spins Roxas with speed and dexterity, and Roxas snaps into the pirate's arms, his shoulders rising with exhilaration. But _Roxas_ didn't seem in love _Axel_ – unless Vanitas was reading him wrong. Perhaps added with some wishful thinking.

Across the ball, Maleek stands near the balcony doors, watching the crowd as they gaze at the two men dancing with one another, Roxas' cape mimicking the flow of skirts of a gown. The boy is a mystery. He's just as able to offer kind words as well as slit someone's throat. The way he looks now compared to how he was on the mission he was assigned is . . . remarkably different.

That look of joy in his eyes, that smile wide and genuine. Maleek had never had someone look at him that way in a long time. He sometimes wonders if he ever will again

Unable to look at the happy couple any longer, the Faceless Assassin leaves the ball.

When the clock chimes three and most of the guests – including his mother and Maleek – had left, Roxas finally decides that it is safe for him to leave. She he slips from the ball when Axel goes to get a drink and finds Myde waiting outside to escort him back. The halls of the castle are silent as they stride to his room, taking the empty servants' passages to avoid any too-curious courtiers leaning more about Roxas. He smiles as he relishes in the fun he had dancing with Axel. He picks at his nails as they enter the hallway that leads to Roxas rooms. The rush of having Axel look only at him, talk only to him, treat him as if he is an equal and more hadn't yet worn off.

Myde clears his throat, and Roxas looks up to see Axel standing outside his rooms, chatting with the guards. He couldn't have stayed long at the ball if he'd beaten Roxas back here. Roxas' heart pounds, but he manages coy smile as Axel bows to him, opens the door, and they do inside. Let Myde and the guards think what they want.

Roxas unfastens the mask from his face, tossing it onto the table in the center of the foyer and sighs as the cool air meets his flushed skin. "Well?" he asks, leaning against the wall beside the door to his bedroom.

Axel approaches him slowly, halting only a hand's breathe away. "You left your own party without saying good-bye." He says, and braes an arm against the wall beside Roxas' head. Roxas raises his eyes, examining the black detail on the sleeve that falls just above his hair.

"I'm impressed you got up here so quickly – and without a pack of court ladies hounding after you. Perhaps you _should_ try your hand at being an assassin."

Axel shakes the hair out of his face. "I'm not interested in court ladies." He says thickly, and kisses Roxas.

His mouth is warm, and his lips are smooth, and Roxas loses all sense of time and place as he slowly kisses Axel back. Axel pulls away for a moment, looks into Roxas' eyes as they open, and kisses him again. It is different this time – deeper, full of need.

Roxas' arms are heavy and light all at one, and the room twirls round and round. He ant stop. He likes this – likes being kissed by Axel, likes the smell and the taste and the feel of him.

Axel's arms slip around Roxas' waist and he holds the assassin tightly to him as his lips move against Roxas'. Roxas puts a hand on Axel's shoulder, his fingers digging into the muscle that lies beneath.

Axel removes his mouth from Roxas and smiles. It is infectious. Roxas leans forward again, but Axel smoothly puts two fingers against the boy's lips. "You forgot my present to you."

"Oh?"

"If you still have the energy, it's in town."

"At three in the morning?"

"I told them to keep it open no matter what." Axel purrs. "Besides, no one will be awake, so it'll peaceful."

Roxas sighs as he glances at the clock, then behind him out to the city where only a few lights of late-night citizens glowing in the distance. "Fine." he sighs.

While Axel waits outside, Roxas takes a surprisingly shaky breath and checks himself in the mirror one last time. He stays in his attire for the party celebration, he huffs in annoyance at why he feels so self-conscious.

Refusing to let himself sweat another second longer, Roxas detaches the long silver cape to replace it with an ermine cloak from which Sora had left on the ottoman in the center of his dressing room.

When he reaches the entrance hall, Axel is already waiting for him by the door. Even from across there massive space, he can tell Axel's eyes are on him as he descends the stairs. Not surprisingly, he still wears his outfit from the ball.

He watches Roxas' every step across the hall, his face unreadable. At last Roxas stops in front of him, the cold air from the open doors biting into his face. "Happy Birthday." Axel smiles.

"Do I even want to know where you're taking me/"

Axel grins at him, Roxas' nerves melting way. "Somewhere utterly inappropriate for the Son of the Queen of the Underworld to be seen." Axel inclines his head towards the carriage that wait outside the castle doors. "Shall we?"

As they ride through the city, sitting on opposite sides of the carriage, they talk about anything the other had missed while occupied with their own obligations. They even debated whether spring would start showing itself at last. When they reach the building – an old, apothecary - Roxas raises his brows. "Just wait," Axel says, and leads the assassin into the warmly lit shop.

The owners smile at Roxas, beckoning them up the narrow stone staircase. Roxas says nothing as they go up and up the stairs, past the second level, and the third, until they reach a door at the uppermost landing. The landing is small enough that Axel brushes against the cape of his cloak, and when Axel turns to him, one hand on the doorknob, he gives Roxas a small smile. "Now, it might not be an extravagant ball, or a cute little puppy but . . ."

He opens the door, stepping aside so Roxas can enter.

Wordlessly, Roxas walks in.

Axel had spent hours arranging everything, and in the daylight it looks lovely, but at night . . . it is exactly how he'd imagined it would be.

The roof of the apothecary shop is an enclosed glass greenhouse, filled with flowers and potted plants and fruit trees that had been hung with little glittering lights. The whole place has been transformed into a garden out of an ancient legend. The air is warm and sweet, and by the windows overlooking the expanse of Traverse Town stands a small table set for two.

Roxas surveys the room, turning in place. "It's the warrior-prince's garden – from that woman's song." He says softly. His cerulean eyes are bright.

Axel swallows hard. "I know it isn't much –"

"No one has ever done anything like this for me." Roxas shakes his head in awe, looking back at the greenhouse. "No one."

"It's just dinner." Axel says, rubbing the back of his neck and walking to the table, of only because the urge to go to Roxas is so strong that he needs a table between them.

Roxas follows him, and an instant later, two servants appear to pull out their chairs for them. Axel smiles as Roxas' hand shots to his dagger, but upon seeing that there are _not_ being ambushed, he gives Axel a sheepish glance and sits down.

The servants o pour two glasses of sparkling wine, then bustle off for the food that they'd spent all day preparing in the apothecary's kitchen. Axel had managed to hire the cook from the Third District for the night – for a fee that made him consider punching the woman's throat. It is worth it, though. He lifts his flute of wine.

"Many happy returns." Axel says. He did have a little speech prepared, but now that they are here, now that his eyes are so bright, and he is looking at him the way he had before at the ball . . . all the words went right out of his head.

Roxas lifts his glass and drinks. "Before I forget: Thank you. This is . . ." He examines the glittering greenhouse again, then looks out to the river beyond the glass walls. "This is . . ." Roxas shakes his head once more, setting down his glass, and Axel catches a glimmer of silver in the boy's eyes that makes his heart clench. "No one has thrown me a birthday party since I was a child."

Axel scoffs, fighting past the tightness in his chest. "I'd hardly call this a _party_ –"

"Stop trying to downplay it. It's the greatest gift I've been given tonight; or in a long while."

Axel crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair as the servants arrive bringing their first course – roast beef stew. "You're mother threw you an extravagant ball for the ages, Vanitas got you a cute little puppy to cuddle in bed."

Roxas is staring down at his soup, brows high. "But they don't know what my favorite stew is, do they?" He glances up at Axel. "How long have you been paying attention?"

Axel becomes very interested in his stew. Don't flatter yourself. I just bullied the castle's head cook to tell me what dishes you favor."

Roxas snorts. "You might be a mighty sailor of the sea, but even _you_ can't bully Nikolai. If you'd tried, I think you'd be sitting there with two black eyes and a broken nose."

Axel smiles, taking a bite of stew. "Well, _you_ might think you're mysterious, and brooding and stealthy, Roxas, but once you know where to look, you're a fairly easy book to read. Every time we have roast boar stew, I can barely get a spoonful before you've eaten the whole tureen."

Roxas tips his head back and laughs, and the sound sends heat coursing through every part of Axel. "And here I was, thinking I managed to hide my weaknesses so well."

Axel gives him a wicked grin. "Just wait until you see the other courses."

When they've eaten the last crumb of chocolate-hazelnut cake and drank the last of the sparkling wine, and when the servants had cleared everything away and bid their farewells, Roxas finds himself standing on the small balcony at the far edge of the roof, the summer plants buried under a blanket of snow. He holds his cloak close to him as he stares towards the distant spot where the Avery meets the ocean, Axel beside him, leaning against the iron railing.

"There's a hint of spring in the air." Axel says as a mild wind whips past them.

"Thank the gods. Any more snow and I'll go mad."

In the glow of lights from the greenhouse, Roxas' profile is illuminated. He'd meant the dinner to be a nice surprise – a way to tell Roxas how much he's appreciated him – but his reaction . . . How long has I been since he felt cherished? Apart from that his father who treated him so foully.

Did either of his parents even have any idea that in the entire kingdom, in the entire world, there is no one more noble and loyal than him? That the boy they've raised for their own nefarious purposes has lived to become the sort of man that kings and queens could only dream of having serve in their courts? The sort of man that Axel hadn't believed existed, not after everything that's happened.

"You had promised me that we would run away together." Roxas starts softly. His blood roars in his ears, especially as Axel turns to him with a smile. "Where will we go?"

"Anywhere." Axel immediately replies. "As far as we can get."

"That's not a very reliant promise."

"Well it's all that I can offer you for now."

"What will we do?" Roxas asks, and suddenly both of them realize he's gripping Axel's shoulders. He eases his grip, but his fingers ache to grab him again, as though afraid Axel will disappear in a cloud of ash and blood.

"Live our lives, I suppose. Live the way we – you – want to, for once. Learn how to be normal people."

"How far away?" Roxas breathes, as if hearing Axel speak of such a beautiful future fascinates him like a child would a story about fairies.

"We'd travel until we find a place where they've never even heard of Twilight Town. If just a place exists."

And they would never come back.

And because Roxas is so young, and so damn clever and amusing and wonderful, wherever he makes his home, there will be some man who will fall in love with him and who will make him his partner, and _that_ is the worst truth of all. It had snuck up on him, this pain and terror and rage at the thought of anyone else with Roxas. Every look, every word from Roxas . . . he didn't even know when it had started.

"We'll find that place, together." Axel says quietly.

"What is something happens? To me, to _you_?" Roxas nearly sobs.

"Then this world isn't worth living if you're not mine."

"You wouldn't . . ."

"I would. And I will." Axel catches the glimmer of pain and hope in Roxas' eyes, and before he knew what he is doing, he closes the distance between them, one hand on Roxas' waist and the other on the assassin's shoulder. "I would be the greatest fool in the world to let you go alone."

And then there are tears rolling down Roxas' face and his mouth becomes a thin, wobbling line.

Axel pulls back, but doesn't let the boy go. "Why are you crying?"

"Because." Roxas whispers, his voice shaking, "you remind me of how the world ought to be. What the world _can_ be."

Axel brushes away Roxas' tears, lifts his chin, and kisses him.

The kiss obliterates Roxas.

His lips are soft against Roxas' – still tentative, and after a moment, he pulls far back to look into Roxas' eyes. Roxas trembles with the need to touch him everywhere at once, to feel Axel touching _him_ everywhere at once. Axel would give up everything to go with him.

Roxas twines his arms around Axel's neck, his mouth meeting his in a second kiss that knocks the world out from under him.

Roxas doesn't know how long they stand on that roof, tangled up in each other, mouths and hands roving until Roxas moans and drags him through the greenhouse, down the stairs, and into the carriage waiting outside. And then there is the ride home, where Axel did things to Roxas' neck and ear that makes him forget his own name. They manage to straighten themselves out as they reach the castle gates, and keep a respectable distance as they walk back to Roxas' room, though every inch of Roxas feels so alive and burning that it is a miracle he makes it back to his door without pulling Axel into a closet.

But when they are inside Roxas' rooms, and then at his bedroom door, and he pauses as Roxas takes Axel's hand to lead him in. "Are you sure?"

Roxas lifts a hand to Axel's face, exploring every curve and freckle that has become so impossibly precious to him. There is no doubt, no shred of fear or uncertainty, as if every moment between him and Axel has been a step in a dance that has led to this threshold.

"I've never been so sure of anything in my life." Roxas tells him. Axel's eyes blaze with hunger that matches Roxas', and Roxas kisses him again, tugging him into Roxas' bedroom. Axe lets Roxas pull him, not breaking the kiss as he kicks the door shut behind them.

The smell of Axel's cologne sears Roxas' senses. Quieting the tangled mesh of his thoughts, it numbs him like a drug. Axel holds Roxas' chin and envelopes his lips. Roxas' tilts his head. It wasn't long until Axel's tongue was in his mouth. Teasingly flicking the tips. Roxas immediately bits down on Axel's bottom lip, erupting a growl.

Roxas' arms snake upward and wrap around Axel's neck. Axel's hands dropped to pat Roxas' tender rear. Then Roxas aided him when he felt them drift to his thighs. Roxas pushes off his feet and lets Axel's hands lift him up. Roxas' legs wrap around Axel's waist, and suddenly their kisses grow more rough. Roxas tangles his fingers in Axel's hair and dips his head to nibble on Axel's neck, Axel in turn kisses Roxas' shoulder. Roxas' tightens his grip as he feels Axel teeter back and make the careful trek to his bed.

The thought makes Roxas' body flare hot.

Axel suddenly turns and Roxas' eyes flutter open for a brief moment before he feels the cool wood against his hot skin. Axel's hands burrow beneath the thin barrier of Roxas' jacket, easily unbuttoning it. Or rather popping the buttons off from his sudden jerk of his hands, ripping open Roxas' jacket. Keeping his legs tight, Roxas withdraws his hands to strip his tunic off over his head.

Disposing the tunic to the floor, he fastened one hand to the nape of Axel's neck. Roxas pulls him in and lets Axel explore his neck. He arches his head back and moans as Axel's tongue traces along the side, up his jawline. He drops down to the base of Roxas' neck and teasingly licks certain spots. Roxas' growing heat transfixed to his groin, a pulsating feeling that he strangely likes.

Axel pushes off the door and crosses the room into the bed. Roxas can feel the sheets slide under his bare back and Axel crawls over him. He begins to trace kisses down the young assassin's torso. Roxas is incredibly fit for a nineteen year old.

Roxas groans as Axel kisses, licks, and nibbles his way down Roxas' stomach. He dips his tongue into his navel and then lightly suck along Roxas' V-line. Roxas stiffens as he feels Axel's fingers coil around the lining of his undergarments. Roxas dares himself to lift his head and looks, and Axel's green forest eyes flick up. Roxas numbly nods and in an instant, Axel pulls off his pant and intimate clothing in one quick jerk. Roxas has to resist the urge to cover himself.

Axel smiles and then withdraws to pull off his own pants. Roxas' face flushes beet red as Axel comes back over and descends on him again, his mouth locking with his. The urgency in his kiss grew, climbing toward ferocity. Roxas struggles to keep up, to catch his breath.

Axel draw back for a moment. "You really want to do this?" he asks.

"Please." Roxas begs.

Axel bites his lip at the sight of the assassin. Of once proud, deadly, brave, now quivers and whimpers with pleasure. Reacting so, innocently to Axel's touches. Axel backs up, and brings Roxas' knees up. Keeping his eyes locked on the assassin, he then slams in Roxas. Roxas cries out as a rage of hormones rack his body. Axel covers Roxas' mouth with a long fingered hand. He eases his way out with exquisite slowness.

"Again?" he breathes.

"Yes." Roxas please.

Axel move again but this time doesn't stop. He shifts onto his elbows so Roxas can feel his weight on him, holding him down. Axel moves slowly at first, easing himself in and out of Roxas. And as Roxas grows more accustomed to the alien feeling, his hips move tentatively to meet Axel. Axel speeds up, Roxas moans, and Axel pounds on, picking up speed, merciless, a relentless rhythm, and Roxas keeps up, meeting his thrusts. Axel grasps Roxas' head between his hands and kisses him hard, his teeth pulling at Roxas' lower lip. Axel shifts slightly, and Roxas can feel something building deep inside him. Roxas starts to stiffen as Axel thrusts on and on. Roxas' body quivers, bows; a sheen of sweat gathers over him.

_Oh gods_ . . .

He didn't know it would feel like this . . . didn't know it could feel as good as this. His thoughts are scattering . . . there's only sensation . . . only Axel . . . only Roxas . . . oh please . . . Roxas stiffens.

"Roxas," Axel whispers breathlessly, and Roxas unravels at his words, exploding around Axel as he climax and splinter into a million pieces underneath him. And Axel comes, he calls Roxas' name, thrusting hard, then stilling as he empties himself.

Roxas is still panting, trying to slow his breathing, his thumping heart and his thoughts are in random disarray. _Wow_ . . . that was _astounding_. Roxas opens his eyes, and he Axel has his forehead pressed against his, Axel's eyes closed, his breathing ragged. Axel's eyes flicker open and gaze down at Roxas, dark but soft. Leaning down, Axel gently presses a kiss to Roxas' forehead and slides out of him.

Roxas winces at the unfamiliarity.

"Are you okay?" Axel asks as he rolls to his side.

Roxas' eyes refocus and his breathing steadies.

"Roxas." Axel call his attention.

Roxas looks to him and smiles wide. A breathy laugh escaping his lips. Axel smiles and kisses his lips. He then slides off and gathers back just his pants. Roxas wants to pull his back on too, but he's too weak to move.

All he can do is ease his way between the sheets as Axel rounds the bed. He looks to Axel and smiles; Axel smiles back even, laughs at the goofy look on Roxas' face. As he crawls into bed and pulls the flat sheet over Roxas' body; the assassin still moist with sweat. Roxas snuggles down into the bed as Axel wraps his arm around Roxas' intertwining their hands.

Before Roxas doses off, he catches the scent of Axel's sweet cologne.

* * *

Sometime in the middle of the night, Roxas manages to slip from the bed when his legs are strong enough, and shrugs on Axel's black tunic. Lifting the collar to his nose, Roxas inhales Axle' sweet, sweet scent.

He strode to the balcony and flings open the doors, embracing the chill air. His hand rises to his lips and he stares up at the stars, feeling his heart, grow, and grow, and grow.

In the garden, Vanitas stares up at the young man's balcony, watching as the boy waltzes alone, lost in his dreams. But he knows that the assassin's thoughts weren't of him.

The boy stops and stares upward. Even from a distance, he can see the blush on the boy's cheeks. He seems so young – no, new. It makes his chest ache.

Still, he watches, watches until the boy sighs and goes back inside. He never bothered to look below.


	29. Chapter 28

Roxas awakens as dawn pours into his room. Axel still holds him close, just as he had all night, as if Roxas would somehow slip away during sleep. Roxas smiles to himself, pressing his nose against Axel's neck and breathing him in. Axel shifts, just enough for Roxas to know that he's awake.

Axel's hands begin moving, twining themselves in Roxas' chocolate hair. "There's no way in hell I'm getting out of this bed and going for a run." Axel mutters onto Roxas' head. Roxas chuckles quietly. Axel's hands graze lower, down Roxas' back, not even stumbling over the scar tissue. He kissed every scar on Roxas' back last, on his entire body, last night. Roxas smiles against Axel's neck. "How are you feeling?"

Like he is everywhere and nowhere all at once. Like he's somehow been half-blind all his life and can now see everything clearly. Like he can stay here forever and be content. "Tired." Roxas admits. Axel tenses. "But happy."

Roxas almost whines when Axel lets go of him long enough to prop himself up on an elbow and stare down at him. "You're all right, though?"

Roxas rolls his eyes. "I'm pretty certain 'tired, but happy' is a normal reaction after one's first time." And Roxas is pretty certain he'll have to talk to Sora about a contraceptive tonic as soon as he drags himself out of bed.

"What?"

Roxas just shakes his head, smiling. "Nothing." Roxas runs his fingers through Axel's hair. A thought hits him, and Roxas' smile fades.

"How much trouble will you get in for this?"

Roxas watches Axel's muscled chest expand as he takes a deep breath, dipping his head to rest his brow on Roxas' shoulder. "I don't know. She's your mother, what do you think?"

"Maybe she won't care. Maybe she'll dismiss me. Maybe worse. It's hard to tell; she's unpredictable like that." Roxas chews his lip and runs his hands down Axel's powerful back. He had longed to touch Axel like this for so long – longer than he realized. "Then we'll keep it a secret. We spend enough time together that no one should notice the change."

Axel lifts himself again, peering into Roxas' eyes. "I don't want you to think I'm agreeing to keep it secret because I'm' ashamed in any way."

"Who said anything about shame?" Roxas gestures down to his naked body, even though it is covered by the blanket. "Honestly, I'm surprised you're not strutting about, boasting to everyone. _I_ certainly would be if I'd tumbled _me_."

"Does your love for yourself know no bounds?"

"Absolutely none." Axel leans down to nip at Roxas' ear, and Roxas' toes curl. "We can't tell Vanitas," Roxas says quietly. "He'll figure it out, I bet, but . . . I don't think we should tell him outright."

Axel pauses his nibbling. "I know." But then Axel pulls back, and Roxas winces inwardly as he studies the assassin again. "Do you still –"

"No. Not for a long while." The relief in Axel's eyes makes Roxas kiss him. "But he'd be another complication if he knew." And there is no telling how he'd react, given how tense things have been between them. He is important enough in Roxas' life that he doesn't want to ruin their relationship.

"So," Axel says, flicking Roxas' nose, "how long have _you_ wanted –"

"I don't see how that's any of your business, Captain Axel. And I won't tell you until you tell me."

Axel flicks Roxas' nose again, and Roxas bats away his fingers. Axel catches the assassin's hand in his, holding it up so he can look at the gold ring – the ring Roxas never takes off, not even to bathe. "Probably in Atlantica, when we danced together in the square. Maybe earlier. Maybe even when you had gotten poisoned by those mermaids. But it was in Atlantica most likely when I realized I didn't like the idea of you with – with someone else." Axel kisses the tips of Roxas' fingers. "Your turn."

"I'm not telling you," Roxas says. Because he has no idea; she is still figuring out when it had happened, exactly. It somehow feels as if it has always been Axel, even from the very beginning, even before they'd ever met. Axel begins to protest, but Roxas pulls him back down on top of him. "And that's enough talking. I might be tired, but there are still plenty of things to do instead of going for a run."

The grin Axel gives her is hungry and wicked enough that Roxas shrieks when Axel yanks him under the blankets.

A few days later after Roxas' birthday, he's spent every night since then with Axel. And afternoons, and morning. And every moment they can spare from their individual obligations. Unfortunately, this training session with the Faceless recruits isn't optional, but as Axel blocks Luxord's wooden training staff, his thoughts keep drifting back to Roxas.

He's barely breathed during their first time, and he'd done his best to be gentle, to make it as painless for Roxas as possible. Roxas had still winced, and his eyes had gleamed with tears, but when Axel asked f he needed to stop, Roxas had just kissed him. Again and again. All through that first night he'd held Roxas and allowed himself to imagine that this is how every night for the rest of his life will be.

And every night since then, he'd traced the scar on Roxas' back, silently swearing oath after oath that someday, he'd go back to Cloud and rip him apart limb from limb.

"Axel!"

Axel blinks, catching the wood hurdling towards him, and Shifts his feet, blocking then spinning, ducking low and ramming his staff into Luxord's stomach. He feels the air leave Luxord's lungs as he slaps his back into the tile floor.

"Nice work, Axel" Maleek's voice chirps through the room. "But don't think I didn't notice your little fantasy get away. Stay focused." Be barks. Axel bites back his smart mouth reply and simply nods his head when he reasons that Maleek is just stating the obvious.

He saunters around the training room, with his chest exposed, and bandaged-wrapped hands he holds behind his back. He walks among the pairs of men and women sparring against one another with their wooden training staffs. His golden hair glints in the sunlight leaking through the giant glass doors of the balcony.

When Maleek passes their pair, and moves on to Demyx and Xigbar, who has Demyx pinned beneath him with the staff against his throat. Demyx tells Xigbar to get off, but Maleek kneels down next to Demyx and instructs on how to lifts himself.

Luxord grunts as he adjusts to his elbows, and Axel extends out his hand which he takes and he's hoisted to his feet. "Just when I thought I had you." He smirks.

"Never underestimate your, Captain." says Axel.

"It's hard to do when you're spacing out. As for what, I think I have a pretty good idea."

Axel sticks out his tongue and is spared from blushing like a fool when the large doors to the training chamber groan open. And in walks a brunet head comes walking in.

Just seeing him makes Axel forget the world around them. Everyone in the room shifts to look at the door, and as Roxas smiles, Axel fights the urge to smash in the faces of the members who look at him so appreciatively. These are supposed to be fearless assassins. And Roxas _is_ striking – and Roxas scares them half to death. Of course they will look, and appreciate.

"Axel," Roxas says, remaining just outside the chalk line border of the sparring squares. There is color high on his cheeks that set his eyes sparkling, making Axel think of how he looked when they were tangled up with each other. Roxas inclines his head towards the hall. "My mother has a mission for us."

Axel would've felt a jolt of nerves, would have started to think the worst, had he not caught that glimmer of mischief in Roxas' eyes.

Perhaps he should've decided to train with Luxord without his black tank top on. Still, Axel hands Luxord his training staff and rubs the sweat from his palms on his trousers. "I'll be back." he says as he quickly leaves the room.

"Let's hope so." Luxord calls.

Axel keeps a respectable distance until they round a corner into an empty hallway and he steps closer, needing to touch the assassin.

"Sora and the servants are gone until dinner." Roxas says huskily.

Axel grounds his teeth at the effect Roxas' voice has on him, like someone dragging an invisible finger down his spine. "I've got training for the rest of the day." Axel manages to say. "I've got another sparring session in twenty minutes." Which he'd surely be late for if he follows Roxas, considering how long it will take to walk to Roxas' rooms.

Roxas pauses, frowning at him. But Axel's eyes drift to the small wooden door just a few feet away. A broom closet. Roxas follows Axel's attention, and a slow smile spreads across the brunette's face. Roxas turns towards it, but Axel grabs his hand, bringing his face close to the assassin's. "You're going to have to be _very_ quiet."

Roxas reaches the knob and opens the door, tugging him inside. "I have a feeling that _I'm_ going to be telling _you_ that in a few moments."

Axel feels his blood roar through him, and h follows Roxas into the closet and wedges a broom beneath the handle.

"A broom closet?" Sora says, grinning like a fiend. "_Really_?"

The servant lies sprawled on Roxas' bed while Roxas pulls a dark green tunic over his torso; thankfully he doesn't say anything about the bruises around Roxas' neck, and around his shoulders, and on his chest . . . and his waist. "I swear on my life."

Sora is wearing borrowed clothes from Roxas – a dark grey tunic and trousers with black boots. Today is officially when Roxas and Sora are going to train. Roxas suggested they train all day to make up for the time Roxas hadn't set up with Sora, and he complied, but wanted there to be long enough breaks to catch his breath as he isn't as fit, nor holds as much stamina as Roxas, and Roxas agreed. To spend a day with Sora is . . . exciting.

Roxas had asked the trainees of the Faceless to leave whatever weapons there were in the training room, and to bring out arrows and bow, knives and swords and set up at least two training dummies. Roxas can't help but laugh at himself at the excitement the bubbles inside him every time he thinks of spending a day alone with Sora in the training room.

Once he secures all of his weapons to his belt, ignoring the exposed blades and the wide eyes of Sora, Roxas skips – actually skips – over to the bed and leaps onto the mattress. Artemis jumps up beside Sora and practically sits on Roxas' face as she wags her tail at the servant boy.

Roxas gently shoves the dog aside, and smiles so broadly that his face hurts. "Who knew I'd been missing out on such fun?" And gods above, Axel is . . . well, Roxas blushes to think about just how much he enjoys Axel after his body had adjusted. Just the touch of Axel's fingers on his skin can turn Roxas into a feral beast.

"I could've told you that." Sora says, reaching over Roxas to grab a chocolate from the dish on the nightstand. Though Roxas spoke against it, his own word was faltered when he had seen the hazelnut truffles drizzled with caramel. "Though I think the real question is, who would have guessed that the solemn Captain Axel could be so passionate?" Sora lies down beside Roxas, also smiling. "I'm happy for you, Roxas."

Roxas smiles back. "I think . . . I think I'm happy for me, too."

And he is. For the first time in years, she is truly _happy_. The feeling curls around every thought, a tendril of hope that grows with each breath. He is afraid to look at it for too long, as though acknowledging it will somehow cause is to disappear. Perhaps the world will never be perfect, perhaps some things will never be right, but maybe he stands a chance of finding his own sort of peace and freedom.

Roxas hoists himself forward up to a sitting position. "Come on, let's go." He says as he nudges Sora. "I've managed to rent out the training room."

Sora immediately hops up with a sudden excited smile. Artemis sits upright instantly, her ears perked and tail wagging. "Stay." Roxas commands and the dog's ear lower.

Roxas leads Sora out of the room, closing the door behind them. Roxas nods to a few of the passing Faceless trainees, and once they turn to an empty hall, both boys then increase their speed, enough to send them speed walking. Then when they both see the doors to the training room, both boys sprint down the remaining length of the hallway to the doors. Though by the time they get there, Sora is already bracing his hands on his knees and heaving for breath.

Roxas chuckles. "Are you really that out of shape?"

"I didn't think that I was." Sora breathes.

"Come on." Roxas taps the boy's shoulder.

Roxas pushes open the doors with a groan and his boots soon click against the floor as he walks over to inspect the table splayed with weapons. He leaves Sora to awe at the grand room and all of its equipment as he had told Roxas that he rarely ever saw the training if not at all. He can hear Sora breathe in astonishment, his reaction very similar to when Roxas had seen the grand library – of which he spent nearly most of his free time – that of which is now donated to Axel.

Checking that all of the sword he had requested are present and perfectly sharpened and shined, Roxas strides over to the weapons rack and gathers a belt strapped with throwing knives.

"Sora, over here." Roxas calls as he looks over his shoulder and finds the boy rotating in circles to gaze at the dome-shaped ceiling. Sora snaps his head at attention and his smile spreads wide, his eyes expanding enough that white shows all around. He runs like a school child over to Roxas has he holds out the belt towards the servant boy. "Here. Make sure this fits."

While Sora adjusts the belt around his waist, Roxas takes up a place near the archery targets. Sora joins him a moment later, and starts firing his knives at the target. He hits the second ring, but never gets any closer to the center. His skill with knives isn't nearly as bad as Roxas expected.

"You're running might be pathetic, but you seem to know you're way around knives, at least." Roxas draws a dagger from the belt.

"When I'm alone, sometimes I set up the tables against the wall and imagine the lead maid's head on it." Sora devilishly smiles.

Roxas chuckles as he shakes his head. His focus narrows to the small, black dot in the center of the target. He steadies his breathing as he cocks his arm, letting his wrist go loose. The sounds of Sora safe. The blackness of the bull's-eye beckons, and as he exhales, he sends the dagger flying.

It sparkles, a shooting star of steel. Roxas smiles grimly as it sticks home.

Beside him, Sora swears colorfully when his own dagger hits the third ring on his target, and Roxas' smile broadens.

Roxas draws another dagger, but pauses as a voice calls to them from doorway of the room. Paine. But she's not talking to Roxas, but to Sora. "Circus tricks aren't much use when you're an assassin." Sora shifts his gaze to her, but keeps positioned towards the target.

Does she not see Roxas? And does she not know how easily he can rip her to shreds before she can even finish her next line of words? Perhaps she doesn't recognize Roxas, she didn't seem to be there for breakfast, not that Roxas cared enough to make tally of her company.

"You'd be better off on your back, learning tricks useful to a slave boy. In fact, I can teach you some tonight, if you'd like." She laughs, and another female voice joins with her. Sora grips the hilt of his dagger so hard that it hurts.

But then he catches the sound before it lands. The sound of whistling steel, then Paine cries out in pain and she's gripping her hand as a throwing knife is implanted dead center of her palm. The other woman comes to her aid, and then another knife suddenly appears into the bicep of her forearm. She grips it too, and the two women curse in pain.

Just as he eyes flick from Sora to the brunette next to him, the chandelier up from above groans and suddenly deafens everyone as it crashes into the floor, shattering into bits and showering shards of glass outwards towards Paine and her accomplice. The sound of the crystals hitting the floor rips through the air like a knife. They squeal and swear some more, some of the words so vulgar Sora is surprised they knew them. They don't have time to curse at Sora or accuse him of the actions as they run out of the way of the remaining glass.

A smile spreads on Sora's lips as he watches them disappear from the doorway. When he turns his head to Roxas, the brunette is spinning a throwing dagger through his fingers, a mischievous smile on his lips. He looks over to Sora and his Celtic ring tattoo ripples with the moonlight.

"Whoops." Is all Roxas says with a simple shrug of his shoulders.

Sora's smile widens despite the two Faceless members running through the hall with glass and daggers impaled in them. "You didn't have to do that."

"Don't listen to them." Roxas says. "They wouldn't know the first thing to do with a man, even if one walked stark naked into their bedroom."

Roxas throws the dagger, and the blade clangs as it lands a hair's breadth from the one he'd already embedded in the bull's-eye.

Sora's brows rise, accentuating his crystalline eyes. "But, I don't want you to think that I need you to stand up for me each time."

"Of course not. They just made the mistake of mocking you while I was here." Roxas winks.

Sora looks back at Roxas' target and combines the knives and the silent and sudden shattering of the chandelier. Sora could barely hear Roxas shift behind him, nor did Paine even see him; and she was looking at both of them. Roxas is much better, and frankly much more threatening that Sora had imagined. "You've got impressive skills."

"Thank you."

"Another reason why I wished I was like you."

"No you don't."

Sora throws another dagger. It yet again misses the mark. He stalks to the target, before yanking out all six daggers and shoving them into their sheaths before returning to the throwing line. Roxas clears his throat.

"You're standing wrong," he says. "And you're holding your wrist incorrectly."

Sora lowers his arm. Roxas takes up his stance. "Leg's like this," he instructs. Sora studies Roxas for a moment, then positions his legs similarly. "Bend slightly at the knees. Shoulders back; loosen your wrist. Throw when you exhale." Roxas demonstrates from him, and his dagger finds its mark.

"Show me again." Sora says appreciatively.

Roxas does so, and strikes the target. Then he throws with his left hand, and fights his whoop f triumph as the blade sinks into the handle of another dagger.

Sora focuses on the target as he brings up his arm. "Well, you're just put me to shame." he says, laughing under his breath as he lifts his dagger higher.

"Keep your wrist even looser." Is Roxas' reply. "It's all about how you snap it."

Sora obeys, and as he exhales a long breath, his dagger flies. It doesn't hit the bull's-eye, but it comes within the inner circle. His brows rise. "That's a bit of an improvement."

"Just a bit." Roxas says, and holds his ground as Sora gathers their knives from the two targets and hands his back. Roxas sheathes them in his belt.

"I'm sorry I have to give you in return for sticking up for me." Sora says.

"Believe me Sora," Roxas sets his hand on the boy's shoulder. "You've done a lot for me."

Sora smiles as Roxas tugs him in for a partial embrace and a pat on the shoulder. "You're from the Destiny Isles, right?" he asks. Though he doesn't mean to, with the Destiny Isles in direct trading post for Twilight Town, it spikes a bolt of fear and guilt. It has been nearly a year now since he's fled from his hometown, months since he's joined up with the Faceless, fewer since he's actually seen his father face-to-face.

Roxas schools his features into polite interest as Sora nods. "This is my first time out of the Isles, actually. And you're from Twilight Town."

"Home sweet hell."

"And what does your father think about a son who's teamed up with his rival?"

Roxas concedes a smile and hurls a knife into the target. "He won't be inviting me home for a while, that's for certain."

"Ah, you're in good hands, though. Your mother is the best there is out there. Anyone would love to be invited into her home."

"How can you say that?"

Sora looks to Roxas, and realizing his tone, Roxas clears his throat. "I didn't mean to make it sound like a challenge, but how can you say such positive things about her after he's chained you down in that dungeon for days?"

Sora goes quiet, lowering his arm and after firing this third one, Roxas turns to him. His heart sinks when he sees the darkness dwell in the boy's eyes.

"Because I had nowhere else to go."

Roxas feels his heart sink down then rocket back up into his throat. He coughs a couple times before swallowing once, twice before he replies: "I suppose that's true."

"My father saw me as nothing more than in embarrassment. My mother was a courtesan, so my father thought that I'd be nothing better than her didn't think would excel. And I believed him." Sora says quietly. "I endured constant abuse, and my father would invite his so called "friends" over to help me "_train_" for my future job."

"By the gods, Sora." Roxas breathes. He turns to face the boy, who has his lead lowered.

"Then one day, while he was out late no doubt indulging his pay at the whorehouses, he let one of those friends, watch over me for the night." He folds his lips in, a tear streaming past his brown spikes that hide his face. "And when he knew my father would be gone all night, he dosed my drink with some Zolpidem."

"Then what?" Roxas asks, Sora getting an overbearing chill from how calm his voice sounds. It is exactly the way he had sounded when Roxas burst through the dungeon door and found him shackled to the wall.

"I know I passed out on the floor. I woke up and that pervert was smiling at me, crawling towards me with some shackles." Sora voice vices out towards the end. "Everything was a blur. I tried to kick him in the groin and broke an oil lamp. He panicked when the fire started, so I managed to stumble-rush to the door and get the hell out."

"And?"

"I didn't stop, I kept running. As fast as I could, and as quickly as my legs could carry me. Everything was a blur, so it didn't matter where I was, when I was or where I would end up, so long as it was away from that home." Sora hitches a breath. "Gods, Roxas it was insane."

Roxas can feel his hand griping around the throwing dagger, hard enough that he can feel the warmth of his blood trickle into his palm. But he doesn't feel the pain. "So what happened then?"

"I don't know. I assume I had passed out from exhaustion, because I woke up and I was back in a bed, fully clothed, and there were Faceless members standing at the foot of the bed. Maleek was one of them, and they offered me a place here."

Sora waits for Roxas' voice, but he doesn't say anything. He looks to the brown-haired assassin who has his eyes focused on a small space off over Sora's shoulders. The sound of dripping catches Sora's attention, and he can see a small puddle of blood under Roxas' hand, and his hand is bleeding from the blade of the throwing dagger embedding in his palm.

"Roxas." Sora breathes as he sheathes his one dagger and goes to cup Roxas' hand. Roxas allows him, turning his gaze towards the boy as he dirties his hands with Roxas' blood. Sora takes the bloodied blade and uses his own hand to hold the blood as he guides Roxas over to the weapon's table. He takes a cloth used to polish blades and cups it around Roxas' hand.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Roxas says coldly.

Sora sighs as he wipes away the blood as best he can, looking around the room for medical supplies. "Roxas, it was in the past, it's over now."

"Is he still alive? You're father and this man?"

"Probably."

"What about your mother?"

"Stay here." Sora orders, avoiding Roxas' question. Roxas allows him to go, obeying Sora's command to keep pressure on the wound as she hurries over to the other side of the room where he finds a smaller table with medical supplies. Roxas keeps pressure as Sora hurries back with a small box. "How is it?"

"Bleeding."

Roxas lets Sora peel back his fingers and removes the cloth, wrapping it in some gauze. "Let me see." Sora opens up some antiseptic wipes and cleans around the cut, earning a hiss from Roxas. "Sorry."

"You didn't answer my question." Roxas reminds.

"It doesn't need an answer. Just as I don't need you to go off and kill them both."

"Not like they don't deserve it." he growls. "After the way they treated you."

"Death would be far too swift and merciful." Sora suddenly says darkly. "They deserve to live out the rest of their pathetic days in that shithole of a life."

This seems to relax Roxas a little as she can see his posture deflate. "If you say so."

"You shouldn't base your ethics on revenge and getting even, Roxas. It's not really . . . healthy."

"It makes people think twice not to argue with me. I'm sure you've had similar beliefs."

"I did, but I also learned that revenge only leads to more pain. I'm sure you have enough experience to verify this." Sora says.

Roxas remains quiet as he watches the boy smear an ointment onto a gauze patch and places it over Roxas' cut. He then takes a wrap of bandages and starts to bind it around Roxas' hand. His face is neutral, not heartless, but with controlled calm and practice.

"You're pretty good at this." Roxas gives a ghost of a smile. Sora looks up to him as Roxas leans against the table, Sora's back hunching as he gazes at the wound.

Sora returns the small gesture. "Along with the employment to clean, I was also assigned to learn how to become a novice healer."

"Something you enjoy?"

"To say the least. I find it interesting. And yes, it does put some use to me." Sora softly chuckles.

"You ever wanted to become a healer?" Roxas asks, Sora feeling relief as he hears the assassin's voice soften; his anger diminishing.

"I've given it some thought."

"You should. You've got some talent. And the nerve."

"You haven't seen me when we operate. I don't last ten seconds." Sora shares a chuckle with the assassin as he finishes wrapping the hand and securing it with adhesive strips. "There."

"Thank you." Roxas says as she flexes his fingers. He pauses for a moment before saying: "So, if not your father, at let me –" Sora sighs with annoyance. "Here me out here. At least let me rescue your mother."

Sora pauses as he looks to Roxas.

"You haven't spoken ill will about her, and unless you speak otherwise, it seems like she loved you."

"If she truly loved me she would've left that bastard." Sora spites.

"Was she . . . successful, in her line of work?"

"Enough that she could've saved us both instead of giving it to that bastard to waste away on booze and other courtesans. Why would she stay?"

Silence.

"Perhaps she had nowhere else to go." Roxas answers.

Sora stays silent, fidgeting with the supplies. "She did love me, and I can't blame her for anything, but I don't know what had happened to her after I had fled. I don't know if she left, or stayed, or was killed out that monster's hand."

"Looks like we all have daddy problems."

Staring at his hands, cleaning them with the antiseptic wipes, Sora inhales heavily. "I've spoken to Tifa about it, but she said her assassins haven't seen her or spotted her anywhere."

"Bullshit." Roxas snaps. "I bet I could find her within a week's time."

"So do I. I just don't understand why she would lie, or refuse to find her." Sora says. He then shoots a look to Roxas, eyes wide with a small gleam.

The next thing Roxas sees is the servant boy taking both his hands and dropping to his knees before him. Roxas' eyes widen as he observes the boy.

"Master Roxas, I beg to you with my humblest pleas. Will you find my mother and see to it she is alright? I miss her dearly, and please, _please_ deliver news to her of my new life."

Ice shoots through Roxas' body. "Sora."

"Please, I beg of you. Just inform me that she is okay. Let her know _I_ am okay. But don't tell her where I am."

Roxas would ask why, but perhaps mentioning he is living with the world's fast-growing assassination faction isn't the best news a mother wishes to know. Mentioning he is a mere servant could also be interpreted erroneous as well.

"Just find her. Let her know I am alive, and . . . well."

"You wish to not share a reunion?" Roxas speaks, not tugging his hand out of the boy's grip.

"No. I . . . I can't face her."

"Why not?"

"Please, Roxas." Sora looks up with eyes gleaming and tear streams down his cheeks. "Don't make me answer. I just, I just can't. I can't explain, and I just can't bear to see her."

"Very well." Roxas submits. He then pulls the boy to his feet, and continues to hold his wrists with a reassuring grip. "I will honor your request, and it shall be done."

"Really?"

"You have my word. I shall find your mother and deliver your news. However, I will need time as well as information on your part."

Sora nods, and that smile returns. "Yes! Yes, of course! It would mean everything to me."

"Consider it done." Roxas nearly tumbles back as Sora launches himself into the assassin's arms. The gesture normal related to embracing your death, but Roxas steadies his feet, and wraps his arms around Sora's torso, resting his nose against the boy's shoulder.

"Thank you." Sora breathes. "Thank you."

Vanitas puts his hands in his pockets as he strides down the halls of the castle. The kennels are empty – the dogs are at the track. He wished to inspect one of the pregnant hounds, though he knew it is impossible to predict the outcome of the litter until she gives birth. He hopes the pups will be pure, but their mother has a tendency to escape her pen. She is the fastest, but he'll never be able to quell the wildness within her.

He doesn't really know where he is going now; he just needs to walk – anywhere.

Vanitas loosens the top button on his vest. The clash of swords echoes from the open doorway, and he pauses. He faces the Faceless' training room, and even though training is supposed to be over by now, there –

There he is.

His russet hair shines as he weaves in and out of a knot of three guards, his sword little more than a steel extension of his hand. He doesn't balk at the guards as she dodges and twirls around them.

Someone begins clapping to the left, and the four dueling figures stop, panting. Vanitas watches a grin spread across the assassin's face as she beholds the source. The sheen of sweat illuminates his high cheekbones, and his blue eyes sparkle. Yes, he is truly lovely. But –

That servant boy, Sora approaches, clapping. He's not in the servants' usual attire, but rather a dark tunic and loose trousers, and he clutches a wooden training staff in one hand.

The servant boy clasps the assassin on the shoulder, and says something to the boy that makes him laugh. Vanitas looks around. Where is Maleek or Axel? It's surprising to him that Roxas had the power to rent out the entire training room just for himself and the Sora.

Vanitas approaches, and smiles at the servant boy as he bows. Sora only deign to give him a terse nod. Not surprising. Vanitas takes Roxas' hand. It smells of metal and sweat, but he kisses it anyway, raising eyes to the assassin's face as he does so. "Roxas." He mutters onto the skin.

"Vanitas." He says, trying to pull his hand away from Vanitas. But Vanitas holds fast to Roxas' callused palm.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I have nothing to do and was searching for some entertainment."

"I certainly hope it means you're going to join instead of watching." Yes, as sweaty he is, he is still beautiful.

"Both options are rather enjoyable in my opinion." Vanitas grins. He flicks his eyes to the servant boy, who holds his arm with one hand, nervously scratching with his index finger. "How are you feeling?" he asks and the pink floods the servant boy's cheeks.

He swallows before answering. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Are you going to interrogate us all day, or are you going to join us?" Roxas suddenly snaps, jerking his hand out of Vanitas' grasp.

Vanitas turns to him and narrows his eyebrows. "Might I have a word?" Vanitas says leading Roxas way before he can agree. When they are out of hearing distance and sheltered under a shadowy alcove, Vanitas says, "What was with the attitude?"

Roxas crosses his arms. "I could ask the same of you. And is that anyway to speak to you beloved Leader?"

Vanitas frowns. "I wasn't being rude."

"I digress. You come in here with your eyebrows narrows like you're ready to punch out a wall. And before you ask, Maleek said I could stay here as long as I want."

Vanitas can see a section of a much larger bruise on his neck. His heart thrums a beat quicker and he thinks back to Roxas' dazed look of enjoyment. Vanitas' shoulders deflate and he sighs. "I'm sorry."

Roxas' shoulders sag. Vanitas is smart, but Roxas can see and feel the connection in both their eyes. He knew.

What is he supposed to say? Sorry? No, he's not sorry for falling in love, for giving himself to Axel. Both he and Vanitas knew this. And while Roxas feels bad about Vanitas' feelings, Roxas knew his feelings with Axel. How long ago, not even he knew; but it is Axel. No doubt.

But even though he had ended things between them romantically, this growing gap in their friendship, it's hurtful. More than hurtful it is annoying. Why should simple feelings get in the way of their lifelong friendship together? Despite having Axel, Roxas knew – just like he knew with Axel – that if things _were_ different, it would've been Vanitas.

"It may not be you. But I still don't want to lose you. You're still just as important as he is." Roxas whispers. Out of the corner of his eye, Sora had taken the courtesy of distracting himself with the training dummy, sensing the tension from across the room no doubt.

Vanitas stop hearing Sora whacking at the dummy with the wooden staff. He's seen the glimpse of Roxas and Axel. At the meals, at training . . . at the ball.

Roxas never looked at him like _that_. Maybe once. Maybe for a heartbeat. But only when he was in pain.

Vanitas takes a long, long breath.

He will move on. Because he will not be like the ancient kings in that lovely woman's song back during the memorial for Hunter. Roxas deserves a loyal, brave knight who sees him for what he is and does not fear him. And _he_ deserves someone who will look at him like that, even if the love won't be the same, even if the boy won't be Roxas.

So, Vanitas closes his eyes, and takes another long breath. And when he opens his yes, he lets him go.

Roxas' turquoise eyes glitter as he stars at Vanitas. He gives a gentle smile. "So, are you as deft at handling your sword as Maleek?"

Still, he could have a little fun . . . He steps closer to Roxas. "Better." He whispers in the brunet's ear. There: he is blushing and blinking.

"Well," Roxas begins, but the timing is off. He'd won. Roxas crosses his arm. "Very amusing, Vanitas."

Vanitas bows dramatically. "I do what I can."

"So, will you spar with us?" Roxas invites, motioning with his arm. "I'm sure Sora won't mind."

"If you say so. At least I can tell him some of your embarrassing stories of when we were kids."

Roxas whirls to him. "What stories?"

Vanitas devilishly grins. "Spring of 1508, the tavern brawl in Hollow Bastion."

Roxas snarls and hisses through his teeth. "That was the only time I was drunk!"

"And it will be the one time I remember to my grave."

After a vulgar expression with his finger, Roxas leads the way as Vanitas follows him back out into the open sparring ring, but diverting his path towards the weapons rack and accustoming himself with two gleaming short swords that have been beckoning to him since he had walked into the room. He hasn't been on a single mission since Roxas had taken down that tailor in the marketplace, so a little training will definitely be a relief as opposed to wandering around the castle, or joining the alchemists down in the bowels underground. He can hear Roxas speak with Sora and the boy seems content with Vanitas joining, and its then he remembers the wooden staff. He sets down the swords walks to the rack of weapons and selects two wooden words.

"So, I have to ask, you've both been friends for a while –" Sora calls and Vanitas turns with the sword still in his hand. "– who was better at fighting."

"Oh-ho," Roxas chuckles. "You don't want to get into this."

"Why, worried he'll find out the truth?" Vanitas chuckles.

"The truth of how I had beaten you countless times?"

"Only when you hit your teen years. Before that, you didn't last two seconds." He walks over with the two swords. He holds one out to Sora. "How about some basic swordplay?"

The servant boy nods and hands off the staff to Roxas, then takes the practice sword. "I can't imagine Roxas getting beaten by anyone." Sora chuckles quietly.

"Then you have a better sense than most people." Roxas says, twirling his staff with strength and precisions that makes Vanitas gulp.

"Still Sora, you must hear about this time that Roxas and I were assigned to this one tavern in Hollow Bastion –"

Vanitas barely finished his sentence before he had felt a whoosh air, pain thumping in his shins and his back slapping into the marble floor. His eyes flash and blacken, and when he blinks, the end of Roxas' staff is inches from his nose. Sora is snickering behind him.

"You were saying, Vanitas?" Roxas grins, but Vanitas can see the pink on his cheeks.

Vanitas grins and whacks aside Roxas' staff as he pushes to his feet. Roxas steps back and Vanitas spins the wooden sword. "It is a lovely weather that time of year." He covers. He turns to Sora. "We'll talk later." He winks. Sora slightly blushes but laughs. "So, you ready to start?"

"Yeah sure."

"I'd be careful, Vanitas." Roxas says as he takes a few steps back.

"Why?"

"Even though I've been training him, just for _today_, he's pretty good. He shows promise. That and the fact that I've been teaching him." Roxas smirks.

Vanitas shakes his head as he faces off to Sora. Far past being rather disturbed by the fact that they look alike, Vanitas stares at the boy and smiles. "You stand like this." He says to the servant boy taking a defensive stance.

Roxas smiles as he watches Vanitas lead Sora through the basic steps of fencing. It's good to see him back to his charming self; in an arrogant sort of way. Roxas can still sense the release of Vanitas after he had taken that long breath. Though it still makes Roxas uneasy how Vanitas had made him fact, he I so attractive that Roxas has difficulty not thinking about how attractive he is, and again wonders why he hasn't found a partner yet.

Sora lunges, slapping Vanitas on the wrist with his sword. Roxas bites down his laughter. Vanitas grimaces and rubs the sore joint, but then smiles as the servant boy begins gloating.

Damn him for being handsome!

Roxas leans against the wall and would've enjoyed the lesson had someone not grabbed his arm. Whirling around, Roxas turns to find Zexion, heaving for breath. "Zexion?" Roxas cries, and a pinch from Zexion keeps his voice down. Sora casts a worried glance in Roxas' direction, but the assassin waves at the boy to resume his lesson with Vanitas.

"What's wrong?"

Zexion signals to give him a moment to catch his breath, and when Zexion lifts his head to face Roxas, Roxas is slightly disturbed to find him . . . smiling. His eyes also seem to have small bags underneath. "Roxas." Zexion smiles. "I have something to show you! It's incredible, and you won't believe your eyes."

"Zexion, calm down. What's going on? You're smiling and it's kind of unnerving me." Roxas says as he holds out his hands ready to catch Zexion as he expects the mage to collapse. It would seem he had sprinted to the room from all the way down the bowels.

"I've done it. I've finally done it." Zexion cheers.

"Well great." Vanitas chimes. "I always thought you and Demyx would end up together." He swings the wooden sword behind across his shoulders.

"Not that you dumbass bastard!" Zexion suddenly hisses. But he quickly turns to Roxas and grips his shoulders. "Roxas, listen, I've been working on a project for weeks, and it's finally ready!"

"I've never seen you so excited, it must be huge." Roxas nervously chuckles and smiles at the member.

"It is. And you will _love_ it! Come on!" Zexion says as he takes Roxas hand and suddenly tugs him too eagerly out of the room.

"W-Wait!" But Zexion is already tugging Roxas out of the room.

Roxas casts a quick glance towards Sora and Vanitas, and Vanitas is already taking the two swords and chucking them aside and motioning Sora to follow. Once he sees Sora and Vanitas in pursuit, Roxas turns his attention to Zexion, and his feet fall into rhythm with the mages.

"So, why did you say that _I_ would like it?" Roxas asks.

Zexion glances over his shoulder to the brunette, his bangs are now blowing out of his face, revealing his other eye that is often shielded with the wall of follicles.

"Consider it my birthday present to you."


	30. Chapter 29

"Well, shit." Axel sighs as he wanders the hallways of the bowels beneath the castle. The stone is moistened with water dripping down, and torches are spaced every three feet bracketed to the wall. They cast orange flames along the stone, darkening Axel's shadow and stretching it further down into the patches of darkness.

He hadn't meant to get lost, but one wrong turn and suddenly the hallways are nothing more than one hallway that matches the others. It's highly disorienting and Axel can't help but give credit to Roxas for managing to memorize a place and all its crevices within a single day.

He was supposed to be visiting down to Zexion, as told by Maleek that he has a surprise for Axel and Roxas. When Maleek had said that Zexion was excited and smiling about it, Axel suspected it was a trap. It probably wasn't, if someone had bothered to escort him down to avoid the complication he faces now. Though then again he'd never hear the end of the taunting from Maleek if he had asked.

Axel carefully wanders down a staircase, his only source of direction is knowing he has to go down. He doesn't know how long he's been walking when he finally hits another wall: a corner. The bookcase here is all carved from ancient wood, their ends shaped into sentries – guards forever protecting the books held between them. It is here that the sconces run out – and a glance down the back wall of the hallway reveals utter darkness.

Axel hears the distant clock chime somewhere – and doesn't quite believe it when he hears the time. The back wall isn't like the side wall; it dips and curves and has closets and alcoves and little study rooms full of mice and dust. And there he notices the tapestry.

He sees it only because it is the sole bit of decoration he'd encountered along the wall. Considering how the last five, near six, months of his life had gone, part of him just knew that is has to mean something.

This tapestry is woven from red thread so dark it looks black, depicting . . . nothing.

He touches the ancient strands, marveling at the hue, so deep that it seems to swallows his fingers in its darkness. The hair on the back of his neck rises, and Axel puts a hand on his dagger as he pulls the tapestry aside. He swears and swears again.

A secret door greets him.

Glancing around the stacks, listening for any footsteps or rustle of clothing, Axel pushes it open.

A breeze, musty and thick, floats past him from the depths of the spiral stairwell revealed by the open door. The light of his torch reaches only a few feet inside, illuminating ornately carved walls depicting a battle.

There is a thin groove in the marble wall, a channel barely three inches deep. It curves along the entire length of the wall, extending beyond the limits of his sight. He swipes his finger in the groove; it is smooth as glass and holds a faint residue of something slimy.

A small silver lamp hangs from the wall, and Axel puts his torch in its place as he takes down the lamp, liquid splashing inside. "Clever." He mutters.

Smiling to himself, making sure his torch is far enough away, Axel places the slender nozzle of the lamp into the groove and tips. Oil pours out and travels down the chute. Axel grabs his torch and touches it to the wall. Instantly, the groove glows with fire, providing a thin line of light all the way down the dark and cobwebbed stairwell. A hand on his hip, Axel stares down, admiring the engraved surface of the walls.

He doubts anyone will come looking for him, but he still puts the tapestry back into its original position and takes out one of his long daggers. As he descends, the images of battle shifts and moves in the firelight, and he could have sworn that the stone faces turn to watch him go. She stops looking at the walls.

A breath of cold air brushes his face, and he at last spies the bottom of the stair. It is a dark corridor that smells of aged and rotting things. A torch lies discarded at the bottom of the step, covered with enough cobwebs to reveal that no one has been down here in a long, long time.

Cobwebs hang from the arched ceiling, grazing over the cobblestone floor. Rickety bookcases line the halfway, the shelves crammed full of books to sworn that Axel can't read the titles. Scrolls and pieces of parchment are stuffed into every nook and cranny or lies unrolled on the sagging wood, as if someone had just walked away from reading them. Somehow, it is more of a tomb than any resting place.

Axel walks down the corridor, stopping occasionally to examine the scrolls. They are maps and receipts from kings long since turned to dust.

_Castle records. Al this walking and fretting, and all you've discovered is useless castle records. As if you can do something with an ancient king's grocery bill_.

Beginning to chant of truly despicable curses, Axel waves his torch before him and walks on until a hallway appears on the left.

It has to lead even lower than the dungeons – but how deep? There is a lantern and a groove in the wall, so Axel once again lights the spiraling passage this time, the gray stone depicts a forest. A forest, and –

_Elves_. It is impossible to miss the delicately pointed ears and elongated canines. The Elves lounged and danced and played music, content to bask in their immortality and ethereal beauty.

Axel doesn't need a historian to know that this stairwell is old – far older than the one through which he had just descended, perhaps even older than the castle itself.

No one has seen or heard of the Elven species since they were hunted and executed deep in their region of magic in the Tarzan forests.

The denizens of that place have once been faeries: gnomes, sprites, nymphs, goblins, more names than anyone can count or remember. All ruled by their larger, human-like cousins, the immortal Elves – the original inhabitants and settlers of the continent, and the oldest beings in all of the kingdoms.

With the growing corruption and the campaign to hunt them down and execute them, the faeries and the Elves fled, seeking shelter in the wild, untouched places of the told. Many kings had outlawed it all – magic, Elves, faeries – and sought to remove any trace so thoroughly that even those who had magic in their blood almost believed it had never really existed, Axel himself being one of them. The Kings had claimed that magic is an affront to the Gods and Goddesses– that to wield it is to impertinently imitate their power. But though they had banned magic, most knew the truth: within a month of King Ansem's proclamation, magic had completely and utterly disappeared of its own accord. Perhaps it had realized what horrors were coming.

Axel can still smell the fires that had raged throughout his eighth and nine years – the smoke of burning books chock-full of ancient, irreplaceable knowledge, the screams of gifted seers and healers as they'd been consumed by the flames, the storefronts and sacred places shattered and desecrated and erased from history. Many of the magic-users who hadn't been burned wound up prisoners in the Death Camps or Port Royal – and most didn't survive long there.

A cold sweat slithers down Axel's spin as he peers into the stairwell. Against all odds, another breeze wafts up from below. Iron. It smells like iron.

The images on the walls flicker as he descends the spiral staircase. When he at least reaches the bottom, he takes a shallow breath and ignites a torch from a nearby bracket. He is in a long hallway paved in grey stones. There is only one door in the center of the left-hand wall, and no exit save for the stairs behind him.

Axel scans the hall. Nothing. Not even a mouse.

He's about to step forward from his shadowy doorway, when he hears footsteps. Immediately Axel retracts back into the shadows, instinctively whipping out his torch. He pulls his cloak tightly around him, pulling his hood up, merging with the shadows.

The footsteps are light, and he can hear the clicking of heels. A woman. A Faceless? Carefully peering his head around the corner, Axel does his best to hide his red hair. Immediately he can see Tifa's dark brown hair flowing past her shoulders and swaying in time with her purple cape whispering against the floor. She doesn't have anyone else with her, and she doesn't seem at all cautious with the light in what would be a usual dark passage. Hopefully she'll just think that one of her minions had left it. And once she realizes that they didn't, hopefully Axel will still be safe.

She takes dainty steps, swinging her hips as she approaches the only door. The iron door is unremarkable, though undeniably impenetrable. It studded surface is like a slab of starless sky. Axel has seen hundreds of doors in the castle – doors of wood, of bronze, of glass – but never of solid iron. This one is ancient, from a time when an iron door meant something. So is this supposed to keep someone out – or to keep something in?

"I trust you're finding your accommodations, well?" Tifa's soft voice still echoing through the hallway. She peers through a small iron window only cut wide enough for someone's eyes to peers through.

Axel presses his back against the wall, as Roxas had tutored him to do – when they weren't entangled in one another, and Axel was pressing _Roxas_ against the wall. He keeps his dagger drawn, praying that he won't need it.

His spine shivers when he hears a dark chuckle come from behind the door. "I couldn't be happier."

Axel nearly loses grip on his dagger, thankfully he clutches it tighter to his chest, feeling the tip poke at his abdomen.

Cloud.

_Cloud_?

"Well, you'll be happier to know that our son is enjoying his stay as well."

"He is not your son!" Cloud seethes. "Not then and not now."

"You have your own self to blame, sweetheart." Tifa retorts with a sly smile on her face. "All your years of brutal training has hardened the boy. Yet it made him so soft and so . . . _easy_. He practically came crawling to me."

"He would've been perfect, had it not been for that pirate crew and their bastard captain." Cloud growls. "But at least I still loved him!"

"That's not what Roxas says." Tifa purrs. "Though I will admit to you he is a _very_ good bot."

"He should be. I trained him." Axel can hear Cloud snarl. "I cared for him. I raised him. He is mine! You just want to use the talent I gave him for your own personal gain."

"And how is that different from what you did?" Tifa challenges.

"I still saw him as a human being, even if he doesn't realize it. Why else would I go to so much trouble to finding him, while you just simply sat by on your _worthless_ ass and waited." Cloud seethes.

He still slightly remembers what had happened at his hotel room in Hallows Eve. He had purposely ordered the wine as he had suspected they were being followed the moment after they had left Agrabah. With the bottle in his hand and his well-acted childish behavior, it was easy to trick anyone into thinking him a senseless drunk.

But despite the stain of his reputation, Cloud let them capture him in knowing they would bring him to their headquarters; of which he had credible trouble locating with so many citizens afraid to speak the name of the Faceless.

"You just want him for his skill." Cloud continues. "You only see him as a weapon for your arsenal."

"All I hear is you drawing parallels between you and I." Tifa sighs sounding bored.

"We are _nothing_ alike."

"Look around you, _honey-dearest_." Tifa growls with a grin, extending out her arms wide. "I have a castle, you simply owned a mansion. And now I get to pass on my morals and techniques to our son."

"Then why would you need me? Why not just kill me?"

"Because," Tifa folds her hands behind her back and starts to space in front of the door. "You hold information that I need."

"You'll never get it out of me. I've endured worse than your torturers can imagine. And after what I've collected and witnessed you doing to Hunter, you can shove those plans up your whore ass."

"You brought this on yourself." Tifa says.

"As did you. You never did take no for an answer. Though I'll admit I was a fool not to kill you when I had kicked you out of the Guild."

"Well that's a bad bas e of judgment on your part. And I have no intentions of hurting you, Cloud. At least not physically."

Axel can feel his heart drop in unison with Cloud.

"You wouldn't dare." Axel can hear Cloud shift in his cell. Assuming he was sitting before, there's the shuffle of stone and the sound of leather gripping iron. "If you harm a single hair on his head –!"

"Relax dreary, I'd never do what you had done to him." Tifa coos. "But your little Guild members aren't as safe as you."

"You'd never catch them."

"If I can catch you, then they will be easy pickings." Tifa challenges.

Cloud resists the urge to laugh in her face. Hopefully he's not playing right into her game, whatever that may be. She's probably just trying find out any bit of information that she can. Cloud won't give her any. Let alone any information on Roxas.

Still . . .

"Whatever you plan to do with him, don't think that you can control him." Cloud says.

Axel waits for Tifa ton reply, but she is silent.

"He's stronger than you think. Stronger than I thought."

After another moment of silence, Axel hears Tifa speak again. "That's what I'm hoping for."

Then there's the sound of her heels clicking against the floor, the whisper of her cloak, and the heavy slam of a door that reverberates through the space. Axel can feel warmth trickle down his stomach as the tip of his dagger had poked through his skin. He carefully angles his head back around and finds the space abandoned.

It's a miracle she didn't spot him. Unless she knew all along and simply tricked Axel. Now more than ever he will have to watch his back around the castle. He can't afford to be alone. But he shouldn't act suspicious as Roxas had informed. _Don't act like you have something to hide_.

Roxas!

He needs to get to Roxas. Will he believe him? Probably not. But Axel has to at least try. He clearly isn't aware of his father's presence in the castle, and let alone the truth behind his mother. Again, he has to try.

Axel uses every inch of his self-control to prowl away from the doorway, as nimble as a cat and smooth as a snake, Axel waits until he's at the top of the landing to burst into a sprint and bolts his way up and down the stairs and towards the mages' quarters; seemingly able to know the path now like the back of his hand.

He sprints through the hallways and through stone after stone passage.

* * *

The cut on his arm throbs, but Roxas watches as Zexion keeps his hand steady as he dips his finger into the inkwell of Roxas' blood and traces the arcane marks on the wall. Copying the symbols in the book with perfect precision. They form an archway – a door – and Roxas' blood gleams in the light of the candles in the room.

Zexion had said that while his so called "surprise" was ready, he needed a small amount of Roxas' blood to make it work. He didn't explain why, nor was Roxas that interested in finding out. Magic was something he never really had favor to learn apart from healing incantations.

It has to be perfect – each symbol has to be flawless, or else it won't work. Zexion keeps dipping his fingers into the inkwell of Roxas' blood. Not everyone can harness the marks; no, the book that Zexion has, _The Dawnstar_ says there has to be power in the blood to do it. Zexion clearly has some trace of power, and Roxas didn't think he had much if any at all, only because he didn't wish to surpass any level apart from healing. Zexion had given him a simple serum that had suppressed his magic, but there is some way of harnessing the innate power in someone's blood – and the marks must be able to access that power, too.

Zexion draws another symbol, nearly finished with the archway.

Their power can warp tings. It had warped other before. But it had also allowed Zexion to summon the Heartless and sometimes gain _more_ power for himself.

There is one mark left to draw, the one that Zexion claims will bring Roxas the person he so desperately needs to see, if only for a moment. The marks are complex, a weave of loops and angles. Roxas didn't believe it would work; didn't _want_ to believe that these marking of blood and chalk could do more than just stain the floor.

Vanitas and Sora stand off to the side, Sora looking slightly pale and sick and hiding behind Vanitas, and Vanitas with his arms crossed and a face that dictates he's seen it before, maybe worse.

Zexion claimed to have taken out his chalk and practiced on the floor until he got it right, then etched it in blood on the wall. Ventus' name in arcane form.

He examines the door he'd drawn and gets to his feet, the book held in his clean hand.

Zexion clears his throat and begins to read the words on the page.

Roxas doesn't recognize the language. Though his throat burns and contracts as Zexion reads, as if fighting the sounds, but Zexion speaks through it, the words making Roxas' teeth ache like he'd just come in from the cold and is drinking something hot.

And then the final words are out, Zexion's eyes watering.

_No wonder this kind of power falls out of favor_.

The symbols written in Roxas' blood begin to glow green, one after another, until the whole archway is a line of light. The stones within its borders darken, darken, darken, then disappear.

The blackness within the green archway seems to reach out for Roxas. Vanitas puts an arm up to protect Sora, who cowers even more behind Vanitas, his eyes widening with fear and astonishment.

It had worked. Holy gods, it had worked.

Was _that_ what waited for him when he died? Ventus had gone _here_?

Zexion turns to Roxas, "Come on, Roxas."

"We're not going _in_ that thing are we?!"

"Of course not!" Zexion protests. "Just approach this and call for him."

Roxas feels his heart jump to jackrabbit speed and he swallows. Her turns to Vanitas and Sora, only Vanitas flicking his eyes towards the brunette. He gives an inconspicuous shake of his head. Turning back to the portal, his urge to do _something_ before it closes makes his feet move towards it.

"Roxas." Sora warns. Roxas holds up his hand, to ease the boy's nerves.

Roxas stands in line with Zexion, the churning void emanating a low rumble like a growl. Roxas clears his throat and coughs.

"Ventus?" he whispers, his throat raw.

There is nothing. Nothing just – just a void.

Roxas looks at Zexion, who looks at the book, then back to the wall and the symbols he'd drawn. Zexion knows he'd written it correctly. The spell was right.

"Ventus" whispers towards that endless dark.

There is no response.

Perhaps it needs time. The book hadn't specified how long it would take; maybe Ventus had to travel through whatever this realm was.

So Roxas waits.

The longer he stares into that endless void, the more it seems to stare back. It is just that dream, the on where he is standing on the edge of the world.

_I forgive you, Roxas_.

"Please." Roxas whimpers into the dark.

There is a sudden gasp from far, far below, and Roxas whirls towards the stairs at the end of the hall. Moments later, faster than should be possible, Axel bounds up the steps, racing for him.

"Axel?" Roxas chokes, his chest aching as he beholds the red-head's sweat drenched clothes and the urgency of panic in his eyes.

Roxas runs to meet him halfway and catches Axel as he doubles over, hands braced to his knees as he greedily gulps for air. "Roxas . . ." he gasps. "I need . . . I need to . . ."

"Calm down Axel." Roxas coos. "What's going on?"

Axel lifts his head to the brunette, seeing the worry in his eyes. "I, I just saw –" Axel's eyes casually flick over Roxas' shoulder, and Roxas could see his skin become even paler. His eyes suddenly gleam with tears and his mouth agapes emanating a small yip of what can only be joy.

Roxas looks towards the portal at the same moment Axel manages to stand on his own.

And then everything stops as he beholds the shimmering figure standing just on the other side of the portal.

Roxas leaves Axel – but hears him follow – as he takes shaking steps back towards the room. The edges of Ventus' body ripple and blur, fracturing with some sort of inner light. But his face is clear – his face is . . . it was his face. Roxas sinks to his knees in front of the void.

Roxas feels the warmth of tears before he realizes he is crying. "I'm sorry." Is all he can say. "I'm so sorry."

But Ventus remains on the other side of the portal. Roxas can feel Axel's feet stop a foot behind him. "I shall not cross this line." Ventus says gently to the assassin. "And neither may you." His tone shifts, and Roxas knew Ventus was not staring at Axel. He watches as Ventus' face glints as he turns his head ever so smoothly towards Zexion. "I thought you were smarter than this."

Roxas looks up. The light radiating off the boy doesn't reach through the glowing portal, as if there truly is some sort of line – some final boundary.

"I'm sorry." Roxas whispers again. "I just wanted –"

"There is no time for you to tell me what you long to say. I came here because you need to be warned. _Do not_ open this portal again. The next time you do, I will not be the one who answers your call. And you will not survive the encounter. _No one_ has the right to open the door to this realm, no matter how fierce their grief. Or how good their intentions."

He hadn't known, hadn't meant . . .

Axel takes one timid step closer. "Ventus."

Turning his head, Ventus' golden laced hair sways with the slightest motion. "Goodbye, my dear friend." Ventus says to the captain, and begins walking into the blackness.

Roxas just stands there, unable to move or think. His throat burns with those pent-up words, the words that now choke the life out of him.

"Roxas," Ventus pauses to look back at him. "Thank you for being my friend, too. You will not understand yet, but . . . I knew what my fate was to be, and I embraced it. But no matter what I did, Roxas, I want you to know that in the darkness of the past ten years, you were one of the bright lights for me. Do not let that light go out."

And before Roxas can reply, the boy is gone.

There is nothing in the dark. As though Ventus had never been. As though she'd made it all up.

"Come back." Roxas whimpers. "Please – come back." But the darkness remains the same. And Ventus is gone.

There is a scraping of footsteps off to Roxas left. The next thing he feels is Axel's hand on his shoulder. His panting has suddenly stopped as if he didn't just run how many distance from his point to here. Roxas glances over his shoulder, but then turns to Zexion.

Roxas takes two steps towards him before launching himself into Zexon's arms. Roxas can feel his clean hand wrap around his torso. "Thank you." Roxas sobs into his shoulder. "Thank you."

Roxas isn't happy. He's not relieved. He's just . . . lighter. Even if by a small piece of weight.

"You're welcome." Zexion chuckles.

Roxas releases him and wipes his cheeks with the heel of his palms. He walks over to Axel who is still staring at the stirring void. Zexion moves towards the wall, keeping well away from the blackness as he runs a hand over the glowing green marks, making to wipe them away.

"What are you doing?" Sora demands. While Vanitas gives him his attention, Roxas wanders over to Axel who still stares at the portal.

"So, what did you want to say?" Roxas asks between sniffing and wiping.

"Uh . . . I . . ." Axel stutters.

Zexion furiously wipes at the marks. They don't budge. Whatever this spell is, it is far more complex than the one that had sealed the library door – merely swiping away the marks won't undo it. He had to set the book down on the podium in order to wipe his hand. He has the closing spell flagged, but this is all terribly wrong.

"Stop!" Sora lunges, getting past Zexion's guard with unnatural ease as he grasps Zexion's wrist. Zexion whirls to Sora, already making to dislocate the servant's arm, but Roxas barks Zexion's name and he releases Sora instantly.

"Sora, what's wrong?" Roxas asks.

Then a greenish light flares beneath Sora's feet. Roxas' eyes dart to Sora's hand and finds a small cut on Sora's blood, not long, but apparently deep enough to have blood dripping from his finger. An Arcane mark burns, then fades.

"_Oh, gods. Gods_!" Sora panics.

"Sora." Roxas says again.

But then a shudder runs through the floor, and something in the void makes a sound. A guttural growl.

Sora gives somewhat of a whine. He rushes towards Roxas pushing against his shoulders, herding hi towards the stairs. "Oh gods, we need to go."

"What?" Axel questions.

The void shifts, mist now swirls inside, parting long enough to reveal rocky, ashen ground. And then a figure emerges through the mist.

"Ventus?" Roxas whispers. He'd come back – come back to help, to explain everything.

But it is not Ventus who steps through the portal.

Roxas' world turns into slow motion.

A guttural bone-grinding growl sounds from within. And then a scream – a human scream. Blue light flashes in and around the room. What is _that_?

A roar shakes the ancient stones. _That_ is not human, nor is it Artemis. But what –

The world that shows though the arch, depicting a land of mist and rock.

The next thing he sees is Zexion cowering against the opposite wall, chanting strange words from the book he holds in his hands.

Sora and Axel and Vanitas are prostrate on the floor.

Then the monster: a tall, sinewy thing, but definitely not human. Not with those unnaturally long fingers tipped with claws, white skin that looks like crumpled paper, a distended jaw that reveals fishlike teeth, and those eyes – milky and tinged with blue.

And there is Roxas, his swords raised and teeth bared, refusing to let the demon anywhere near the three men, even as the assassin seems to be limped, even as the blood pools from the wound on his right thigh.

Roxas launches himself at the creature.

Axel doesn't remember anything after the first two swings of his sword, only that he'd suddenly seen Roxas come flying at the creature. The sight had distracted him enough for the demon to get past his guard, its long, white fingers grabbing Axel by the hair and slamming his head into the wall.

Then darkness.

He wondered whether he'd died and awaken in hell as he opens his eyes to a pulsing headache – and the sight of Roxas, circling the pale demon, blood dripping from both of them. And then there are cool hands on his head, on his neck and Axel crouching in front of him as he says, "Axel."

Axel struggles to his feet, his head aching even more. He has to help Roxas had to –

He hears the rip of clothing and a yelp of pain, and he looks at Roxas in time to see his grasp the cut on his shoulder, inflicted by those filthy, jagged nails. The creature roars, its overlong jaw gleaming with saliva, and it lunges again for Roxas.

Vanitas tries to move, but he isn't fast enough.

But Zexion is.

Something invisible slams into the creature, sending it flying into the wall with a crunch. _Gods_. Zexion doesn't have just magic – he has _raw_ magic. The rarest, and deadliest, kind. Sheer unlimited power, capable of being shaped into whatever form the wielder desires.

The creature crumples but instantly gets up, whirling towards Axel, Sora and Vanitas and Zexion. Zexion just stands there, hand outstretched.

The milky-blue eyes ravenous now.

Through the portal Roxas hears the rocky earth crunching beneath more pairs of bare, pale feet. Zexion's chanting grows louder.

Roxas attacks the thing. It surges towards him just before his swrod strikes, swiping with those long figners, forcing the assassin to dart back.

Zexion grabs Vanitas. "We need to close it. The portal should close on its own eventually, but – but the longer its' open, the greater the threat of more coming through before it does."

"How?"

"I – I don't know, I . . ." Zexion's head spins so badly his knees wobble. But he turns towards the doorway, across the hall, separated by the pacing creature. "I need the book."

Roxas has wounded the demon across its abdomen with a sure, deft stroke, but it doesn't slow down. Even from a few feet away, the tang of the dark blood reaches their noses.

They watch Roxas face against the creature. Roxas runs around it, ready to attack it from behind, but the creature is there and even as Roxas leaps up onto its one hand, its other is already there smacking at him before Sora can utter a cry. Its hand slams into Roxas' back and Roxas is sent flying across the room, crashing into the stone wall, had enough to leave a thin crater with miniature fissures spiderwebbing across the circular space.

"_Roxas_!"

His face scrapes against the stone and when he hits the floor, his forehead is bleeding.

The creature's claws have also swiped at the podium and shredding the book to pieces like tissue; taking with it any hope of closing the portal.

Vanitas couldn't move fast enough to save the book from the creature's claws, and doesn't care, with that demon between them. Roxas, his forehead is bleeding, attempts to push himself to his elbows.

As the creature goes to grab Roxas, Vanitas bolts towards them, drawing his sword. He blocks the creature long claws with his sword and pushes off, spinning and drawing another dagger from his belt and slashing at the creature leg. Where the blade lands he doesn't know or care, but feels immense satisfaction when he finds the blade tipped with blue blood.

Sora manages to crawl his way towards Roxas, and as he takes Roxas by the shoulder, Vanitas darts to the right as the creature swipes. A high scream erupts into the air and all eyes turn to find Sora's arm bleeding as well as a thin cut on his calf, his pantleg shredded.

Vanitas hurls himself towards the other side of the room, forcing the creature to turn its back from the rest of the group. As Sora manages to drag the half-conscious Roxas towards him and Zexion, Roxas' eyes keep darting to Vanitas, who is now keeping that _thing_ distracted. Everyone knew without being told that he doesn't want to leave the assassin.

"I'll go –" Axel begins.

"No. These tunnels are a labyrinth, and you don't know your way around enough." Roxas pants. Vanitas and the creature circle each other, the thing slowly backing towards the portal entrance.

"I can't close it without a book." Zexion moans.

"Are there more books upstairs?" Roxas asks.

"Yes , but I –"

"Then we flee." Axel breathes, grabbing Roxas by the elbow. "We flee and try to get those books."

Axel drags Roxas to him, not daring to take his eyes off Vanitas or the creature. Roxas sways in his grasp. The wound to his head must be as bad as it looks. Something is glowing around his waist: the silver sword of Farengar, the God of War that Roxas thought was just a cheap replica, shines like a tiny blue star.

"Go." Vanitas tells them, staring down the thing in front of him. "_Now_."

Then as he dodges another swipe of the creature's claws, its other hand comes swiping. Vanitas manages to leap up over the hand, but as he spins and angles himself down towards the creature's head, the thing opens its mouth and it's long but thin tongue lashes out like a whip and coils around Vanitas' waist.

As quick as a whip, it hurls Vanitas down into the floor, then swings him into the side wall before lashing across the room to the opposite wall. He hits the floor in a dead weight, his eyes closed and face calm in unconsciousness.

"_Vanitas_!" Roxas screams.

As the creature goes for him again, it is slammed into the wall as before, only it's pinned this time, struggling against an invisible pressure. Axel quickly makes his way over to Vanitas and drags him towards Zexion where he is exchanged. His face is now streaming with blood and his clothes are dusted with stone powder. He blinks a few times before wiping his face as best he can and wobbling to his feet. His lips mumble quickly before golden spirals circle around him, up and down his body until the blood reduces to a thing smear.

Now it is Axel who draws his swords and approaches the creature.

"No." Roxas gets out, but the wound on his head makes him sag into Vanitas' grip. As if realizing that he'd be a hindrance to Axel, Roxas stops fighting Zexion as he hauls Roxas towards the stairs.

Axel knew he couldn't win this fight. His best option is to flee with them, to guard the way until they can get to that stone door far, far above and lock the creature down here. But he isn't sure he'd even make it to the stairs. The creature thwarts his attacks so easily it seems to have an uncanny intelligence.

At least Roxas, Zexion, and Vanitas had reached the stairs. Axel can accept his end if it means they can escape. He can embrace the darkness when it comes.

The creature pauses just long enough for Axel to gain a few more feet of distance. He backs towards the bottom step.

But then Roxas starts shouting – the same word again and again as Vanitas tries to keep dragging him up the stairs.

_Sora_.

Axel looks. In a dark shadow by the wall, Sora has been left behind, his arm and leg too injured to run.

The creature looks, too.

And there is nothing Axel can do, absolutely nothing, as the creature whirls, grabbing Sora by his injured leg, and drags him through the portal with it.

There is nothing he can do, Axel realizes, except run.

Roxas' screams are still echoing through the passageway as Axel leaps off the stairs and hurtles through the misty portal after Sora.


	31. Chapter 30

If Roxas had thought he had known fear and pain before, it is nothing compared to what went through him when Axel ran through the portal after Sora.

Vanitas didn't see Roxas coming as he whirls, slamming Vanitas' head into the stone wall hard enough that he crumples to the steps, freeing the brunette assassin from his grasp.

But Roxas doesn't care about Vanitas, doesn't care about anything except Sora and Axel as he sprints down those few stairs and across the hall. He has to get them out, get them back before the portal shuts forever.

Roxas is through in a heartbeat.

And when he sees Axel shielding Sora with nothing but his bare hands, his discarded sword snapped in two by the demons who hovers over them, Roxas thinks he might just be able to cause a distraction . . .

Until the creature opens its mouth again, and this time, a strange liquid squirts out from the back of its throat, like a cobra, and it lands in Axel's face with a hiss. Axel cries out and claps on hand over his eye, the stinging enough to draw out tears.

Then, Roxas doesn't think twice before he unleashes the monster inside himself.

From the corner of his eye, past the thin, stinging liquid in his right eye, Axel sees him coming, the silver sword of Farengar in his hands and his face set with feral rage.

The moment she burst through the portal, something changed. It is like a fog vanishes from his face, his features sharpening, his steps becoming longer and more graceful. And then his ears – his ears shift into points.

The creature, sensing it is about to lose its prey, makes a final lunge for Axel.

It is blasted away by a wall of blue fire.

The fire vanishes to reveal the creature slamming into the ground, flipping again and again. It is on its feet before it finishes rolling, whirling towards Roxas in the same move.

Roxas is between them now, sword raised. He roars, revealing elongated canines, and the sound is unlike anything Axel had ever heard. There is nothing human about it.

Because Roxas isn't human, Axel realizes, gaping up at Roxas from where he still crouches over Sora.

No – he isn't human at all.

Roxas is Elven.

Roxas didn't know what had happened. Only that whatever happened hurt like hell. A flash of blinding pain as his features rip free of their hold. His energy, his blood and headache seemed to vanish entirely the moment he passed through the threshold of the portal. He gasped slightly as he felt a rush of static electricity wash over him, sending the hairs on his body standing on end.

The demon lunges, and Roxas plummets into the well of power that is suddenly overflowing inside of him.

Magic, savage and unforgiving, erupts out of him, punching into the creature and sending it flying. Flame – this time blinding white with the tips a pale pink; his power manifests into a form of powerful fire.

Axel watches his body numb and Roxas can see past his face of unworldly horror and surprise, his hair melts into the flames, billowing and waving in tune with the fire. The pain in his eyes resolves to a dull throb, though it's started to swell shut.

Roxas can smell everything, see everything. His heightened senses pull his attention every which way, telling him that this world is _wrong_, and he needs to get out _now_.

But he can't get out, not until Axel and Sora make it to safety.

The creature stops rolling, on its feet in an instant, and Roxas puts himself between it and Axel. The demon sniffs at him, sinking into its haunches.

Roxas lifts the sword of Farengar and bellows his challenge.

From far off in the mist, roars answer. One of them comes from the thing in front of him.

He looks to Axel, still crouched over Sora, and bares his teeth, canines glistening in the grey light.

Axel is staring up at him. Roxas can smell his terror and his awe. Smell his blood, so human and ordinary. The magic wells up more and more and more, uncontrollable and ancient and burning.

"_Run_." Roxas snarls, more a plea than a command, because the magic is a living thing, and it wants _out_, and he is just as likely to hurt Axel as he is to hurt the creature. Because that portal might close at any moment and seal them here forever.

Roxas doesn't wait to see what Axel does. The creature rushes for him, a blur of withered white flesh. Roxas runs towards it, flinging his immortal power like a phantom punch. It shoots out in a blue burst of wildfire, but the creature dodges it, and the next blow and the next.

Roxas swings the silver sword, and the creature ducks before jumping back a few paces. The roars in the distance are getting closer.

Crunching rock sounds behind him, and Roxas knew Axel is making for the portal.

The demon begins pacing. Then the crunching stops. That means Axel is n the passageway again; he must have carried Sora with him. He is safe. Safe.

That thing is too smart, too fast – and too strong, despite its gangly limbs.

And if others are coming – if more get through the portal before it closes . . .

His magic is building again, the spring deeper now. Roxas gauges the distance between them as he backs towards the portal.

He has little control over the power, but he does have a sword – a sacred sword made for the Gods, capable of withstanding magic. A conduit.

Not giving himself time to think it through, he throws all his raw power into the silver sword. Its blade glows red-hot, its edges crackling with lightning.

The creature tenses, as if sensing what Roxas is about to do as he lifts the sword over his head. With a battle cry that shatters through the mists, Roxas plunges the sword into the earth.

The ground cracks towards the demon, a burning web of lines and fissures.

And then the ground between them begins to collapse, foot by foot, until the creature is sprinting away. Soon there is just a small lip of land surrounding Roxas, backed by the open portal, and an ever-growing chasm before him.

He wretches the sword from the broken earth. He knew he has to get out – _now_. But before he can move, before he can get to the portal, the magic ripples, so violently that Roxas sags to his knees. Pain flashes, and Roxas shifts back into his clumsy, frail mortal body.

And then there are strong hands under his shoulders, hands he knew so well, dragging Roxas back through the portal and into the mortal world, where his magic is snuffed out like a candle.

Vanitas comes to just in time to see Axel hauling Roxas back through the portal. The brunette assassin is conscious, but is a dead weight in Axel's arms as he drags Roxas across the ground. Once they are over the border, he drops Roxas as though he is made of flame, and Roxas lies panting on the stones.

What had happened? There had been a land of rock beyond the portal, and now . . . now there is nothing but a small ledge and a massive crater. The pale creature is gone.

Roxas pushes himself up onto his elbows, his limbs wobbling. Vanitas' head ached, but he manages to walk to them. He'd been dragging Roxas one moment, and then – then Roxas had knocked Vanitas out. Why?

"Close it." Axel is saying to Zexion, his face so white that the blood splatters on it stand out even more starkly. "_Close it_."

"I can't." Zexion breathes. Vanitas grips the wall to keep himself from falling to his knees from the ache in his head. He makes it to where they are positioned in front of the portal, Sora nuzzling Roxas, conscious, but barely.

"They're going to keep coming through." Axel pants. Something is wrong, Vanitas realizes – something is wrong between Axel and Roxas. Axel isn't touching him, isn't helping him up.

Beyond the crater inside the portal, the roaring is growing louder. No doubt those things will find some way to get through.

"I need another book; the one used to open it got torn to shreds." Zexion says as he frantically rummages through the papers on his desk, scattering the rest of its contents.

Vanitas keeps his gaze on Roxas, as his head bobbles left and right as if he's fighting to stay awake. Sora manages to reach out his arm as Roxas' head falls completely, his body slacking. Vanitas can see Axel's eye is bulging and swelled shut, but keeps to the wall carefully, watching the boys.

"There's another book upstairs." Sora whispers as he staggers to his knees, putting himself between Roxas and the portal, setting the assassin's head in his lap, some semblance of energy returning.

"I don't think I need them. I just need to use my blood. The rest I can do. At least, I hope." Axel starts to object, but Zexion gives him a faint, bitter smile. "Don't worry. Only a cut on the arm."

Sheathing his sword, Vanitas crouches over Sora and Roxas while Zexion draws a dagger. Blood wells from the cut, quick and bright.

Axel growls. "Could you always open portals?"

"Not always. I learned. I never surpassed anything besides healing when back in the Guild." Silence. Zexion continues. "I wanted Roxas to speak to Ventus."

More silence – pitying, horrifying silence.

But then Sora adds, "I – I think I accidentally changed a symbol." He wearily points to the mark Zexion had smeared, the one that had rearranged itself.

"It went to the wrong place. Bit this might close the door – if we're lucky." says Zexion.

What he doesn't tell them is that there is a good chance it won't work. But because there is no other books in his room, and because they can't risk running upstairs while this thing is open, all Zexion has left if the sealing spell he'd used on the library door. And there is no way – no way in hell – he is going abandon this portal and leave one of them to guard it. The portal will eventually close on its own, but he doesn't know when. More of those things can creep through at any time. She Zexion tries this, because it is his only option. He'd figure out something else it if doesn't.

_It_ will _work_, he tells himself.

Vanitas puts a warm reassuring hand on Zexion's back as he dips his fingers into his own blood. He hadn't realized how freezing his hands are until the heat of his blood warms his fingertips. One by one, he draws the sealing marks over the green-glowing symbols. Vanitas never lets go of him – only steps even closer when Zexion sways. Axel says nothing.

Vanitas' knees buckle, but Zexion finishes covering the symbols with his own blood.. a lingering roar echoes through the damned world as the final symbol flares, the mists and rock and ravine fading into black, then into familiar stone.

Sora keeps his breathing steady, throwing all his focus into that. If he keeps breathing, he won't call apart.

Vanitas lowers his arm and looses a sigh, finally letting go of Zexion.

"Let's go." Axel orders, scooping up Roxas, who still offers little to no response.

Vanitas scoops up Sora, who winces in pain and a few tears fall from his eyes. "I think we all need a drink." he says quietly.

Though Roxas' Elven senses are extinguished, he could swear he smells a delicate perfume as Axel carries him through the tunnel and up to the surface.

As the group carefully makes their way as quietly as they can to the floors of the mansion, back to their own version of reality, Zexion holds the door open for Axel and Vanitas as they make their way through.

But then there's a gasp and a flurry of curse words. Using all of his energy to open his eyes, Roxas can see a streak of black lines, wisps of blond hair and blue eyes flurrying with anger like a violent blizzard.

There are shouts of orders, and they're so loud that Roxas closes his eyes and whines. The next thing he remembers is passing out briefly enough to find himself back in his bedroom.

Though his verbal abilities are restrained Roxas merely gives aggravated moans and warning growls, refusing the healer to look at him until Sora's leg and arm have been fixed. It is only a long scratch, but it's deep. Axel had held Sora's head in his arms as the thrashing boy was forced to swallow water laced with a sedative. Zexion helps as best he can while the healer works on the boy lying unconscious on Roxas' dining-room table. Vanitas stands off to the side while Maleek leans against the wall of the room, arms crossed over his chest. He said nothing officially to Axel or the others since he'd discovered them coming up from the bowels.

The healer doesn't ask any questions, either. Once Sora is patched up and moved t o Roxas' bed, Zexion insists that Roxas get his head looked at. But Roxas lazily waves him off and moans. The healer simply sighs through her nose and motions Vanitas next to approach. Scowling, Vanitas lets the young woman clean the small wound on his temple, received when Roxas had knocked him out cold. Considering how bloody Roxas and Axel were, he feels utterly ridiculous, even if his head still pounds.

Maleek shifts his eyes to Roxas and Sora, the two boys intertwining their hands as they lie next to one another on the spacious mattress. He was merely on his way back to his own room from training when he felt the castle rattle; enough to have the hallway furniture vibrate, water inside vases rippling. He was sure everyone in the castle felt it. No doubt his Mistress will be storming through the halls soon, her first instinct to come to Roxas. And when she does, seeing the crowded room, no doubt she'll have anyone besides her son decapitated.

She can be unpredictable like that.

The healer finishes with Vanitas, giving him a timid, slightly concerned smile. And when it is time to decide who should be looked at next, the glaring contest between Axel and Roxas is one for the ages.

At last, Axel just shakes his head and slumps into the seat that Vanitas had recently vacated. He has blood everywhere, and ends up peeling off his tunic and shirt so the healer can cleanse his minor wounds. She places a moistened pad over his swelling eye, and instructs him to hold it there as she examines the rest of him. Despite the scratches and cuts, the abrasions on his hands and knees, the healer still asks no questions, her pretty face an unreadable, professional mask. Of all his injuries, his eye has to be the worst.

Maleek approaches the bed and Roxas angles his head, his voice quiet. "Please don't tell my mother."

From the corner of his eye, the blond assassin senses Vanitas and Axel stiffening. "I think she might already know."

Roxas' brows furrow in worry, and Maleek can't get past the churning of absolute exhaustion in his eyes; as visible as ink in water. There's something else – something so . . . fragile about the boy. Maleek wants to pet the boy's head, but worries he'll cause more pain.

Axel was making a good show of not looking at him.

Vanitas biting down his surge of jealousy as he watches Roxas nearly whimper to the Faceless' Second in Command. What had happened during the time he'd blacked out? And what had happened when Axel was dragging Roxas back through the portal?

Roxas doesn't need a healer to look at his head. When that weird power had taken over him, it had somehow healed everything. All that is left of his wounds now are bloodstains and torn clothing. And exhaustion – utter exhaustion.

"But, I'll try and buy you some time." Maleek promises, then thanking the healer for her help.

She nods her head and secures an eyepatch over Axel's injured eye and adds slight pressure to ensure it is secure. Once she leaves, Maleek stays close to the bed as he angles his head to the rest of the group, his hand now stroking Roxas' brown hair. "I'd ask what had happened, but I know you're all tired and no doubt traumatized."

"That would be an understatement." Vanitas snaps.

"I'll give you at least four days to recover. Will that be enough?"

"Yes." Axel confirms. "And thank you."

"Know I'll expect an explanation soon."

"You'll get it." Vanitas says coldly.

Maleek nods and after putting his gaze more onto Roxas, and after a few more strokes of his hand, he departs from Roxas' bed. He spares the other three a glance before he quietly leaves the room. A moment after he's gone, Axel and Vanitas and Zexion sit in silence as they each stare at the two boys on the bed. They can see Roxas' eyes sluggishly blinking.

"I'll come to your rooms when I'm done here." Axel says.

Vanitas looks to Axel who still stares at the brunette assassin, and a surge of anger courses through him at how Axel is dismissing him. But after what had happened, and the way Axel is behaving around Roxas, it's clear something had happened. Not to mention Sora's panicking at Zexion's unknown mistake. Perhaps there's more to that servant boy than meets the eyes. Besides, at least he'll have time to piece himself together, to sort through all that had happened in the last few hours. And to plan how to draw out questions from Axel.

Still, even as he walks out of the dining room, he can still hear that ungodly roar through the darkness of his consciousness.

Now with only Zexion and Axel sitting in the room, Axel had walked over to the bed where Roxas and the sleeping Sora lie. Their fingers are intertwined with one another, and Roxas' eyes are struggling to stay open. Axel brushes his knuckles across the assassin's cheekbones and his eyes flick up. Axel smiles as gently as he can, struggling to see the boy the same way he has since he had stumbled onto his ship.

Roxas smiles as best he can, his lips closed; though Axel expects to find a pointed canine to poke out. Nothing happens. He softly shushes the assassin, cooing to him that everything is okay and that he can sleep. It takes a couple minutes, but Roxas submits, and with a sigh through his nose, he officially closes his eyes and relaxes into the mattress.

Once the bedroom has been quiet for five minutes, Axel hears Zexion whimper from his seat. "This is all my fault." Axel turns to find the mage deathly pale. "I should've known that would happen. I should've known!" Zexion angrily pounds the dining table, and Axel glares at him to hush. Zexion sighs and Axel moves towards him with solemnest.

"You didn't know any better." Axel says as he sets his hand on Zexion's shoulder.

"But I _should_ have!" he quietly seethes through his teeth.

"All that matters is that he's alive."

"I suppose."

"Look," Axel gives Zexion a reassuring squeeze. "Why don't you go to bed, or at least try to? If not you can stay here."

"I'll be fine. I've been in hairier situations." Zexion gives a faint smile. "One of the benefits of working for Cloud."

"One of few." Axel adds.

"Irony." says Zexion and the two share a quiet chuckle. Zexion rises from his seat and the two men share a partial hug with pats on the back. "Get some sleep."

"I'll try." Zexion promises as he makes his way towards the door. He pauses as he opens the main door. "If I may ask . . . what happened in there? It sounded like another creature had come, based off of that roar. Did something else show up?"

Axel is quiet for a moment, casting his gaze over to the fire that brews in Roxas' fireplace. "Yeah. There was."

Zexion gulps down his next set of questions, and simply nods, bidding Axel a goodnight before closing the door behind him.

Axel stays sitting shirtless in the chair under the healer's ministrations. He simply stares at Roxas, asleep peacefully by Sora as the clock ticks in the background. He curses at himself and the creature for the inevitable jokes he'll be given about wearing an eyepatch and his reputation as pirates. If there's one thing Axel hates, it's stereotypes. Roxas still has dried blood on him, though his wounds are gone. So Axel rises from his chair and goes over to the dressing room, pulling out a clean night shirt and walking back over to the bed.

Tentatively easing their hands apart, Axel proceeds to pull the bloodied tunic up over Roxas head, easing his arms out of the sleeves. At least they've done it enough times that Axel removing Roxas' clothes isn't something foreign. Roxas even having the slightest smile on his lips, and a small chirp of pleasure sounding as Axel eases his way down to unbutton Roxas' pants.

What would normally be expected as laughter, Axel instead sighs through his nose. The image of Roxas with those pointed ears and canine teeth, a look of feral in his eyes . . .

Axel shakes his head and quickly wipes down Roxas' arms and legs with a dampened washcloth before sliding the night shirt over his head and easing his head back onto the pillow.

He brushes some of Roxas' bangs out of his face. The assassin remains still. Axel checks on Sora, who is still unconscious on the bed, and then walks to the balcony doors. He studies the night sky for a long moment, seeking out a familiar constellation. He takes a long breath.

What had happened in that realm with Roxas, Axel still can't believe it. His shift was instant, but it felt so slow to Axel, and he can hear everything: the ripping of the skin so his pointed ears can break free, the sound of his teeth cracking as they stretched out into pointed fangs. That bone deep roar that still reverberates through his body.

Axel never would've guessed that Roxas was part elf. Wording it that way, he sounds less intimidating, but not much is remembered about the Elven kind after their extermination. Though the general thought of them are beings with magical powers and supernatural beauty, ambivalent towards everyday people and capable of either helping or hindering them, what many people had forgotten are the types of the elven kind that lie within the species: Dark Elves, Drow Elves, Wood Elves, High Elves, Aquatic Elves . . .

But how is it that Roxas had obtained traces of the gene in his own? Possibly breeding? Surely he doesn't know, otherwise he wouldn't be so calm. Still so collected. Maybe he wasn't even aware of it. But if he doesn't know, how is it he seemed able to control it?

This is just opening up so many more doors of questions that cause Axel's head to spin. His eye aches, and while his body aches to collapses onto a cushioned surface, his mind is awake enough that he doesn't feel tired anymore.

He needs answers, yet he doesn't want to leave Roxas even if he has Sora lying next to him. He could go to Cloud and ask, but the last thing he needs it another messy issue especially after tonight.

He'll have to go to the library first. That seems like the safest place as well as safest choice. From what Roxas had described, the library is huge; it's sure to have some kind of volumes and tomes on elves. And since Axel had found that hallway with the mosaic of elves . . . if the castle didn't have it, then the catacombs would.

Lightly patting his covered eye, Axel makes sure to pull a light sheet over the two boys, now relaxing asleep in the bed before he leaves the room.

The next morning, Roxas' eyes flutter open as sunlight pools in through the thick draperies. His head lightly pounds but once his eyes adjust, it slowly dulls. His teeth ache like he bit own on concrete. How did he get into his room? Wasn't he downstairs in the basement of the castle with Zexion? Sora was a little upset, and then –

Roxas shoots up from his bed and tosses off the sheets before darting to his bedroom door. He grasps the handle and yanks it open. Poking his head out, he merely finds the guards on duty, their eyes slightly wide with surprise as Roxas springs from the threshold. He looks all around and finds the hallway empty, illuminated by the windows, their crimson curtains already pushed aside by the early-rising servants.

"Looking for someone?" someone speaks behind him. Roxas whirls to find Myde, one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other slightly extended out as if ready to catch Roxas. No doubt he looks pale enough that the possibility of him fainting is high.

Roxas swallows, and only then does he realize that he has on a long nightshirt he doesn't remember changing into. He grasps the collar and encloses it around the skin of his neck, carefully pulling at the hemline that only stops around the middle of his thighs. "Um . . . do you know where Axel is?" he asks, his voice hoarse as if it's been millennia since he's used it.

Myde shrugs. "We haven't seen him since he carried you back to your room. Which begs the question: how are you feeling?"

Roxas sighs in relief through his nose. "I'm fine. My head hurts a little bit, but do you know where Axel might've gone?"

"He merely told us to watch over you, and make sure you're okay. Nothing else."

Roxas looks around the hallway once more, no signs of anyone else around. The fact that his guards are so willingly talking about what they'd witnessed should entice the hope that no one truly isn't around.

He's about to ask what direction Axel had gone, hoping to map out his route from there, until he sees another form move on his bed. His throat clogs, and he carefully treks back into his room, not even thanking the guards. He hears them close the door behind him, and watches as the form sits up, and spikes of brown hair flutter out around his head. Roxas quickly pads his way around the bed and towards Sora's side. The servant boy looks up with fear and surprise in his eyes, but once he sees its Roxas, they seem to ease to relief.

He approaches the servant boy carefully, seeing the bandages on his arm and leg. He too wears a nightshirt too big for him, and his legs look thinly frail. Roxas smiles gently as she eases himself on the edge of the bed. Artemis comes trotting her way up and leaps herself onto the mattress, snuggling herself between Sora and Roxas. She delicately licks Sora's bandaged arm. "How are you?"

"I should ask the same of you." Sora quietly speaks. He pets Artemis' ear and she rests her head on his lap.

"A little sore, but, overall alive. Now your turn."

"Mine would depend on how you define okay."

"Are you still breathing?"

"Do short panicked breaths count?"

Roxas chuckles quietly. "Yeah, they count."

"Well then I'm halfway there." Artemis gives a whine as he pauses his petting. Roxas scoots himself further onto the bed and folds his legs. "But that was, crazy." He breathes. "Did you encounter anything like that?"

"Not before I came here." Artemis scrambles to her feet and assaults Roxas' face with kisses. Roxas laughs and calms the growing puppy. He kisses her soft head and instructs her to lie down. "I only had one other encounter with a . . . I think Zexion called it a Heartless. That was the only other time. Everything else when I was with my father's Guild is just healing stuff."

"Hmm," Sora hums as he reaches for Artemis' velvet soft ear.

"Well, what about you? I'd ask if you're traumatized, but you seemed to know enough about the mystics that it caused you to panic."

Sora almost coldly chuckles. "You assassins sure do pick up on the smallest of details."

"Part of the job. So, what's up? Because we both know I'm going to find out somehow."

Sora takes a deep inhale. He plays with Aretmis' paw as she set it on his thigh. "Well, I told you that I used to study magic along with the healing incantations when I first arrived here. During that time, Kairi was my tutor, and once I got past the basics, she introduced me to all of these powerful spells and stuff. But . . ." Sora draws a shaking breath. "But when I tried one spell, something went wrong; and I nearly froze the entire basement into an iceberg, people included. They managed to melt it all away, but nearly twenty of the members had third degree frost bite."

"So, you have some magic in you. It's nothing that foreign. And it's obvious they managed to forgive you, hopefully without any severe punishment."

"It's just . . . it was so bizarre. I always assumed I had power, since not everyone can even do healing incantations. But I never knew what I was _really_ capable of, and I still don't."

"And that's fine. But judging from how you're saying it, I assume you haven't practiced in a while."

"Not since the accident. I was too afraid after that. Kairi assured me everything was fine and the Mistress wasn't mad. She said she was even surprised and ecstatic. But after that incident, I refused to try even the simplest of magic. I was too afraid." Sora lowers his head and Artemis whines, pawing at his leg.

"Well, that explains why you knew about the portal. But what happened afterwards?" Roxas asks.

"Zexion didn't close the portal before he erased the marks, and when he tried to beforehand, it messed things up and it . . . readjusted to another realm where your friend wasn't there."

"Just as he warned."

Sora nods. "He seems nice. Or seemed. How did you two meet?"

Roxas feels a pang in his chest, and he grunts as he adjusts his legs, stretching them out. "He was first mate to Axel's ship. And he died because of me."

"I don't remember you telling me this before."

"It was intentional. He was the only person with whom I felt a real friendship with. Well, until now." Roxas looks to Sora, trying not to laugh at how his bed-head spikes make him mimic a porcupine."I guess that's why I'm so protective of you. Though I always fear the effort is in vain. I protected him from everything. Bandits, drunkards, even the members of my own Guild. But I couldn't protect him from my father, from me."

"It seemed like he forgave you."

"I didn't think he did, or rather I didn't believe it until yesterday." Sora remains quiet. "His last words to me were: I forgive you. Such kindness I didn't deserve. For him to forgive me even before the sin was committed. _That_ . . . what was unconditional love."

"What do you mean "didn't deserve"?" Sora asks.

"Because I ended his life. I gave him an oath to protect him, and I failed. It was a stupid oath. Pointless."

"But you still cared about him. And I think he knew that. He knew how you felt. That's why he forgave you. He knew you didn't have a choice."

Roxas is silent as he bites his lip. "When I spoke to Ventus, he mentioned . . . mentioned that he knew his own fate. That he had embraced it. Do you think he somehow manipulated me and my father into . . ." But Roxas can't finish saying it, can't let himself voice what the horrible truth might be: that Ventus had engineered his own death, knowing that he might change the Guild – change _Roxas_ – more through dying than living.

Sora's warm, slender hand grasps Roxas. "I don't think he manipulated you to his own death. I think it's more like, he knew enough to figure out that you didn't want to kill him either. Like, he knew you would regret it, and he probably was worried that the grief would bury you. So he wanted to give you relief, in a way. And I also think that he thought that your worth more alive than he."

"How?"

"I don't know, Roxas. But he saw something inside you. Something that no one else can see. A sort of, fire that burns passionately inside you."

Roxas merely gives a cold chuckle as he shakes his head. He feels Artemis lick his hand and whine. When the silence between them, though comfortable becomes too palpable, Roxas shrugs his shoulders. He slinks off the bed and ruffles his brown spikes. "I should go and check on the others. I'll also let the servants know of your injuries of they don't already."

"Wait, what about –!"

"I won't tell them exactly why, unless they already know. But still."

"This could be bad." Sora warns.

"Not from what you've told me. Seems like my mom would be more than happy to know that we opened a portal in her basement." Roxas gives a bitter smile.

He then continues towards his dressing room where he disappears behind a door and washing his face. Emerging in a green tunic and brown pants, he rolls up the sleeves and tugs on a thin jacket.

"I'll be back." he says to Sora. He turns to find Artemis standing on the bed, her tail wagging in Sora's face as she snuggles his legs back down under the sheets. "Watch over him, okay?" Roxas smiles to the dog. In answer, Artemis turns back to Sora and rotates in a circle before she lies down next to him, her head resting on his leg. "Good girl."

Roxas then closes his chamber doors, and starts down the hallway following Myde's directions. Once he reaches the first floor, he makes his way towards the basics. He checks the kitchens, the dining hallway both yielding irritable results. He then checks the training room, finding only a few members of the Faceless trainees and his crew. Demyx had spotted him across the room and ran over as Roxas nodded towards him.

Demyx seems normal if not a bit more sweaty. He breathes a little heavier as he speaks. "Hey, did you feel the castle vibrate last night?" Roxas merely shakes his head no. "Oh, it was weird. The entire castle vibrated enough that you could hear some of the glass rattle."

Roxas simply stares at Demyx, putting on his best face of surprised and bewilderment.

"Aw man, you miss out on the best stuff! But hey listen, I saw Axel just now, and he seemed injured."

Roxas can feel his heart skip a beat as Demyx stands himself on his practice staff.

"He was wearing an eye patch over his left eye. And I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but laugh. I thought he was just trying to fit the thing for a costume for the Day of the Dead. But it seems he injured it."

"Did he say how?"

"No," Demyx shrugs. "He just said he injured it and had to keep it covered. Imagine if he just badly poked himself in the eye with the end of this staff."

"That would be more like _you_, Demyx." Roxas snaps, but adds the right amount of humor. "I'll see you later then."

With that, Roxas leaves the training room and waits until he's left the hall before he bolts down the hallway. Demyx had said Axel was injured, so that must mean he's in the hospital wing of the castle. Roxas pumps his arms left and right, sliding down the banister of the stairs before he makes a sharp right and the air fills with the smell of antiseptic. He pushes through a set of double iron doors and looks around, listening for familiar voices.

He hears one in the utterly quiet halls. "I'm sorry it has to be this way."

"Can't you fix it? It hurts like a bitch." Axel's voice then says.

Roxas' ears perk and he quickly speed walks past other rooms that hold Faceless members, most assumingly trainees caught with a stomach flu of cold. He makes his way to the final door on the right and simply pushes aside the door with his hand.

In the room there is a padded table, a countertop that converts into a desk settled under white cabinets a single chair in the corner, a scale and a window showing the outside world to be bright and gleaming with life.

Though none of it matters as Roxas beholds the figures in front of him. He recognizes the healer from last night, her long black braid the only distinct feature he remembers when he was trapped within his twilight world of consciousness. Maleek is sitting in the chair at counter, out of uniform and looking appealingly attractive in a dark grey tunic. Zexion is in a pale blue tunic with short sleeves and dark pants as his hand covers his mouth, his skin paler than normal.

"Roxas, what are you doing here?"

And then, there is Axel, sitting on the padded table, his hands gripping the edge until his knuckles turn white. Roxas turns his attention towards Axel. He reaches for the red-head and takes hold of his chin before Axel has the chance to stop him.

"No, don't." Axel lightly protests. "Stop, Roxas."

Roxas' other hand cups the side of Axel's face. He freezes as Roxas' thumb skims the scar, the connection taking him back to the creature and how it had bared its fangs at him. Axel's eyes are closed and there's no mistaking the healed wound cutting almost diagonally through Axel's eyebrow and across his left lid. It's not a smooth line, the top is somewhat jagged and it makes Roxas' stomach plummet.

"Open them."

Axel no longer fears Roxas' touch, its' just stubbornness now.

"Open them." Roxas demands.

Roxas' hands fall like a dead weight, body backing away. He's unable to despise his response because the rest of him is going into shock.

"Yeah, they gave a similar reaction." Axel bitterly states.

The pupil has been damaged, no longer perfectly aligned and leaking slightly into the iris, which is an angry combination of dark green and blue. The whole eye is lightly cloudy in a milky white and it feels like the bottom has dropped out of Roxas' world

"I don't . . ."

Axel is still allowing Roxas to process what's in front of him."

"Partially sighted." Axel weakly smiles.

Roxas shakes his head and tries to catch the breath that has escaped his body.

"I don't understand." Roxas pleads.

Axel's vision flickers down before mustering the courage to fully engage Roxas for the what feels like the first time.

"Roxas, I'm half blind in my left eye."


	32. Chapter 31

Roxas' stomach clenches, that horrible feeling of frightful shock he can't seem to quell. Axel is looking at Roxas for some sort of reaction and all Roxas can convince him of is a rabbit caught in headlights. Off all the sill things to think, Roxas is wondering if it impolite to stare.

This isn't an imperfection or an embarrassing tattoo one can hide under clothes or pass off with a jovial anecdote. Its' one of the most valuable senses, helps ground you in the situation and environment around you.

Roxas grips his hands tightly around one another because he can't keep them from shaking.

"The creature." Roxas speaks quietly, more to Zexion than to Axel.

Zexion merely nods, and all he adds is: "Venom."

Returning his gaze to Axel, Roxas stares at every detail of Axel's face, apart from the milky eye. He's unsure if Axel is disappointed with his initiate reaction, but his brows grow heavy before mumbling something about getting back to his chambers.

Roxas takes off after him, carefully observing Axel's movements to try and determine how extensive the disability is. The short walk is a poor indicator because the space is itself is no bigger than a straight hallway out towards the lobby. It doesn't take much to mentally map out the interior.

Zexion follows after Roxas, him hearing the mage for thanking the healer once more. Thing are completely normal as Axel shrugs on a thin jacket and pushes his way past the doors, except for the fact that he is blind.

Roxas mumbles a vulgar swear, then clears his throat of nerves. Axel twists his head as if Roxas was calling for his attention.

Maybe it's like looking through frosted glass, or perhaps his left eye is shrouded with dark silhouettes. If he closes his right eye, what will he see? Roxas doesn't inquire because he doesn't know what kind of state Axel is in at the moment. Whether he'll be upset, poignant, or not even wanting to discuss the matter, Roxas doesn't know, and is afraid to try. He wants to know the details, but at the same time thinks if it's best not to delve too deep into something he shouldn't become invested in.

But there's something else with Axel that Roxas can feel is off. Though his eyes aren't the key giveaway anymore, there's something about him keeping his back turned to Roxas. Something is off about him, and the thought makes Roxas' spine tingle with uneasiness.

They enter the hallway back into the main castle, and Roxas is desperate to make conversation. But what is he supposed to say or talk about? Does he mention the eye thing or not; and if not, will that offend Axel into thinking he doesn't care?

"How's the room from the portal? Has anyone spoken to you yet?" Roxas asks Zexion.

"Yes, they have." Roxas can feel his heart sink, and Axel turns his head at attention. "I didn't get a chance to clean; and by the time I had gotten down there, Aertih and three trainees had already, skillfully, cleaned the place."

"So you just told them everything?" Axel seethes and Roxas turns to give him a glare to calm down.

"Not like they didn't know already Axel." Zexion hisses back. "The _entire castle_ rattled from top to bottom. And Aerith knew I was the only one down there at the time. Everyone else was already in the training room. I expect a conference with your mother soon."

Swearing again, they pass under an archway leading back into the main hall. Off to the right it leads back to main foyer and then the left adds more into the castle. Immediately Axel turns off to the right without a word.

"Hey, Axel!" Roxas calls.

Axel doesn't stop, but he waves a hand from behind. "I'm heading out."

"To where?" Roxas shouts.

"I'll be back."

"Axel!"

But the red-head still continues on his determined path. Roxas watches him until he turns a corner and is out of sight. He immediately whirls to Zexion, who was watching him too, eyebrows raised, but no other distinction of surprise other than that.

"What the hell was that!?" Roxas stomps angrily.

Zexion shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe he just needs some alone time; to contemplate."

"I suppose," Roxas feels a light poke on his arm and he looks to find Zexion jerk his chin towards the left hallway. Roxas follows him, keeping pace with the mage. "But something is wrong. He wouldn't even look me in the eye."

"Well he did just lose his eyesight, Roxas."

"I know that! But there's something else. Usually he would kiss me goodbye, even if he did have a disability."

"While I understand your concern, please keep information of your personal affections to a minimum, please."

Roxas chuckles, but he keeps peering over his shoulder to the direction Axel had taken.

Zexion feels his heart tug by barbed wire. It's clear Roxas doesn't remember much after things had gone wrong with the portal. The assumption is that what retained after Sora and Axel were in the portal, hasn't even occurred in his brain yet. But Zexion knew; he had watched the whole thing through the opening, and he still gets chills when that roar thunders its way through his mind.

Once Roxas had leapt his way through that threshold of the mortal world and the realm of ash, Zexion didn't see his facial features, but he could see the pointed ears push their way through Roxas' hair. They twitched when the creature had bellowed a snarl at Roxas as he stepped his way between it and Axel. Then he gazed between Roxas and Axel as he made for the portal with Sora in his arms. Zexion watched the sword of Farengar – of which he hastily put back into Roxas room, delicately placed on the cushion of the couch as if the thing would glow to life once again – and watched as Roxas stabbed it into the ground, causing the entire thing to crackle and collapse, leaving nothing but that faint edge.

It was the secret that only he and Axel kept between one another. Though he fears that the experience had done more damage to Axel than he. Zexion has seen worse; he himself using a spell of dark magic to turn a priest inside out. But Axel . . . despite his claim of mermaids at sea, along with sea creatures of terrifying appearance, he doesn't seem that accustomed to magic and its endless possibilities.

This of which, is why it makes for the deadliest weapon in the world.

"Zexion?"

He turns his head to Roxas and finds the boy staring at him, eyebrows furrowed in worry. Zexion clears his throat. "I'm sure he's just trying to cope with his eye. I'd give him some space for a while. Or at least until he feels comfortable to talk."

"I suppose."

"Listen," Zexino says quickly, but brightly. "Why don't you go see Vanitas? I'm sure you have plenty to discuss as you had knocked his head into a stone wall."

Roxas bites his lip, but a smile still tugs on his lips. He's bought it.

"That seems, fair. At least until my mother comes and sends for us. If ever."

"I'm not sure if I'd be relieved or intimidated."

"There's no need to be intimidated." Roxas chuckles.

"Easy for you to say, she is your mother."

Hearing the assassin laugh is both relieving and heart-wrenching at the same time. Then with parting words, Zexion continues on his path more towards his chambers than off to the basement this time. After what had happened, he doesn't wish to go back any time soon.

However, as he turns the hallway and slinks close to the wall, he enters his chambers and nearly collapses to the floor.

Aerith is sitting on his couch near the balcony door, dressed in a dark purple tunic and grey pants. Her eyes are placid, but Zexion tries his best to find out her intentions.

"We need to talk."

And that is all she says as he hears the doors behind him lock into place.

Meanwhile, it is near noon as Roxas is trudging down the hall, unable to find Vanitas despite the urge to make sure his head truly is okay. Roxas wasn't thinking about him when he slammed it into the wall, and a part of him hopes that there is no permanent damage. In his panic to get to Sora and Axel, Roxas only knew that his intentional attack was merely to render Vanitas helpless, not to kill. Roxas has done worse head injuries to his targets.

He had gone to Vanitas' chambers, only to be told by the guards that he wasn't there. So, like before, Roxas had begun his search through the castle, looking for his partner. He checked the training room once more, the dining hall, music hall, the gaming room of his own chambers and the gardens as well.

And his search would've continued until he had run into his mother in the game park armed with a bow and arrow, riding horseback. She was beautiful with her long hair braided back and lost in the folds of her long crimson cape. Underneath is a simple tunic and pants set for hunting. Roxas nearly yelped in surprise as he had mistakenly stepped out in front of her.

"Roxas, I didn't expect to see you here." She says with a ghost of a smile.

Roxas scratches his brown spikes. "Yeah, I was looking for Vanitas, but I can't seem to find him anywhere."

"Roxas, if I may ask," his mother dismounts and adjusts her leather brown gloves. "did you feel the castle vibrate last night?"

Roxas swallows and sighs through his nose. Really, what was the point in lying to his mother? He was in _her_ home, of which she welcomed to him with open arms. He shouldn't betray her by lying, especially since the conversation was inevitable. Though what he can do, is spare Zexion and everyone else her wrath should she get upset. If he can handle his father's retribution, his mother shouldn't be much of a stretch.

"Yes I did, and I was there." His mother tilts her head to the side, flattening her lips slightly, enticing more. "I wanted to see someone that my father had me kill. He was a great friend, and I wanted to speak with him. Just once."

"You'd have to know powerful magic in order to open a portal." His mother speaks, her voice flat, but not angry.

"I'm just as surprised as you are. But, some things went wrong when I tried closing it, and I unleashed a . . . creature."

This catches his mother's attention as her eyes widen and brows rise. She takes a small step closer. "What kind of creature? You mean, you opened a portal to another _world_?"

"Yes." Roxas nods. He lifts his gaze to her. "And when I did, my friend too said how stupid I was to do it. He said that no one has the right to open it, and that I should never do it again."

His mother surprisingly giggles. "Well, then that takes care of my parental lecture."

Roxas gives her a nervous smile. "And then, when he went away, and I tried to wipe away the marks –"

"Marks?" Tifa folds her arms and examines her son.

"Yes, arcane marks that were used to open the portal." Roxas says, though reminding himself not to tell anything his mother doesn't need to know. Sora had said she was curious about magic and the elements it possesses, but Roxas was a little nervous to speak of the ideals himself. "I messed it up, and they rearranged, changing the setting of the portal and unleashing this creature that looked like it from an ancient god's nightmare."

"What did it look like?" His mother is not at his side, a delicate hand on his shoulder.

Roxas clears his throat, and tries not to run his thumb over the dotted scar on his hand where that Heartless creature had bitten him. "I'm sorry," he chokes. "But I don't wish to speak about it anymore."

He sees his mother's shoulders sag in disappointment, but she pulls him into a hug, his cheek resting on the warm material of her cloak. She strokes his brown hair. "I'm so sorry my pet. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. The whole thing must've been horrid."

Roxas wraps his arms around his mother. "I still can't believe it." he mumbles. "I'm still wondering if this is real." He nuzzles deeper into his mother's warmth. "Thank the gods it is."

Tifa kisses her son's head. "Tell you what, why don't you come with me on a ride? We can look around town and maybe it'll help ground to reality."

Roxas smiles. "If anything can convince me of reality, it'll be chocolate hazelnut truffles."

They laugh together as Roxas follows her on foot back towards the stables, where he's given a sturdy Clydesdale to ride. The creature is gigantic compared other stallions; Roxas actually suspects that it ate another horse to gain such muscle and size. Still, the idea of how it can run and how fast makes him excited. Still, he has to use a step platform to gain enough height to mount the horse.

Once the stableworkers are pleased that everything is set, Roxas and his mother set out on the gravel trail leading towards the front gates. They pass through and the gates shut behind them with whining hinges and a heavy clang of metal.

Riding through the town, by now Roxas is accustomed to not wearing his hood, though he still keeps the ebony cloak around his shoulders as he rides alongside his mother; of whom also keeps her hood down, though she undid her braid and her hair falls in a curtain of soft waves around her head. They ride along the right side of the street allowing other carriages and riders to pass.

Once they've reached the shopping district, Roxas tugs on the reins as he and his mother are forced to stop. A crowd has gathered on the sides of the streets that have been blocked off. Roxas looks to his mother who has on a smile on her face and when she looks to Roxas, her expression shifts to excitement for him to see something.

Then the first of many wagons exit the western street. They are loaded with barrels of wine and ale. Rows of mercenaries guard them. A few women go with them, trailing just behind. They are the first of what will soon be an army of camp followers.

"What's going on?"

"It's our annual county jubilee." She smiles.

Looking to his mother, Roxas jerks his chin towards a back alley that follows along the road. She nods and they follow the wagons outside the city and at least a mile until they stop. The wagons circle the hills, held back from the peaks by guards. Tents occupy every open spot. Courtesans drift among the mercenaries, latching onto those who appear handsome or wealthy. More wagons arrive, these carrying wood and utensils for building fires and cooking the enormous amounts of food soon to follow. Old tables snake throughout the camp, mismatched in color and style.

Soon the noise has grown so loud that those with Hollow Bastion can hear the cacophony. Merchants not directly associated with the fair pack up their wares and shift west, setting up shop beside the gates or along the winding path leading towards the camps. Coin is traded between a thousand hands. More wagons arrive next, loaded with silks, chain, jewels, earrings, and a veritable army of mercenaries with swords drawn. The camp followers bedeck themselves in decorations far above their station, knowing this festival will be their best night in years. Gold flows at the event, as always.

"Sure is a lot of security for a fair." Roxas says to his mother as they around about the perimeter. Roxas would've chuckled had it not been for the serious expression on his mother's face. He recognizes that face, it was something his father always had when he was dealing with business. Roxas isn't surprised by his mother, in fact he would've found it odd if she wasn't looking for potential clients. Still something about it seemed to rub Roxas the wrong way.

The meat wagons arrive late from the southern farms, much to ire of the cooks. They dig a ditch in the dirt south of the hill and let the blood flow from cows that arrive for the butchers. Flies buzz about it, stubbornly withstanding the chill of the newly arrived winter. As cooks cut and chop the meat, small fires are spread across the hill, surrounded by stones and covered with spits and cauldrons. Until the meat is ready, the men and women gorge on biscuits, honey, and rolls basted with spices.

Plenty of it is free, but far more is not. It never seems to matter. The consumption grows. Atop the larger hill is a great pavilion, and within feasted the highest members of the Kingdom's court. Finally a caravan arrived with over two hundred mercenaries, along with another hundred servants, tasters, singers, jugglers, and the meal.

Roxas feels his chest thunder as he studies the crowd. Slowly joining them in a steady stream are friends and families of the mercenaries, the cooks, the servants, the wealthy and the poor, along with many members of the Thief Guilds, their dagger poisoned and their eyes wide at the proliferation of gold and silver.

He can find at least the most recognizable members of his father's Guild. Their cloaks have changed to a shared color of grey; now only their hair or distinct features of their face make them recognizable. Saix's hair flows out from his hood and he glides within the throng of people. Marluxia is disguised as a wealthy courtesan, a fitting attire, and converses with large handfuls of females. But on his arm, her hair slightly past her shoulders, Larxene is dressed in a gorgeous blue and golden dress where the neckline dips low to expose a rather distracting amount of cleavage.

The outer limits of the festival are filled with sellswords and the poor. The food and drinks radiate outward from the many banquet tables and kegs. With a near thousand faces swarming about the area, any of them would need a fraction of their skills to go unnoticed. His father even could've stripped naked and till struggle for attention considering the amount of sex going on everywhere. No doubt the whores will be sore for weeks, but even the ugliest of them clutch silver coins tightly between her fingers.

At the base of the two hills the parked wagons form a perimeter, their gaps lined with mercenaries. Roxas doesn't challenge their ring, instead sits poised atop a hill with his mother, gazing down at the gathering, the sounds more muffled. Though now, he debates whether to dive down there and eliminate his father's men while they are so carelessly intertwined with the citizens. His mother sits beside him, her face serious yet neutral. She keeps the reins tight in her hands.

Trumpets sound atop the hill. A steady procession of sellswords moved directly towards them. A man comes in tow, his long fur-lined cape billows in a crimson wave behind him. He mimics some kind of duke judging from his attire, and from the west, mercenaries lift a giant wooden cage on poles from atop a wagon and brings it towards the stage. The door is heavily chained and bolted. It has no gaps in its sides, hiding whatever might be within.

Roxas can see his mother lean forward. "What's going on?" he asks, bracing himself. Because of trumpets, the crowd has surged in his direction, packed together so tightly he'd have a devil of a time pushing his way out. Given their position, he and his mother have a bird's-eye view to whatever foolishness is about to begin.

"That duke bragged about a special event planned to start the festival." His mother explains, not even bothering to whisper. The chaos around them will drown out anything they say. "As to what, I don't know. None of my men and women could find out through coin or flesh."

Roxas nods, feeling uneasy. He doesn't like surprises, even worse, he hates lacking a quick exit. Shoving aside a hundred bodies is no easy feat.

"Come, come." He hears the nameless duke shout as he hobbles after his guards. Two more travel with him, and at the sight Roxas feels his heart jump. All three leaders, there in the clear. No doubt they're important, and for a moment, he pictures the members of the Royal Garden's Court and how easily this situation would've been so much easier. His father's war against the Bastion would be won.

"I don't suppose you have a crossbow on you?" he asks his mother. Sadly she shakes his head.

"Damn."

The dukes stop far up the hill, keeping a good distance between themselves and the crowd. Mercenaries surround them, looking serious and stiff in their patchwork armor. Roxas can see his former Guild members easily mesh within the crowd and Saix has a front-row seat of the stage. Grunting from the weight, the group of sellswords place the covered cage down in the center of the stage. The crowd murmurs, wondering what exotic creature might be trapped within.

An old man approaches the stage and holds up his hands for silence. He has close-cropped hair that travels down into a thick beard. He seems like an advisor for one of the dukes.

"This day, my Lord Lightning brings a gift not to the festival but to you wonderful people of Traverse Town!" the old man shouts. Those who hadn't quieted before did so now. The din lowered to a muttering hush.

"Long they have stolen from you." He continues. "Long they have made you cower and hide in fear of poison and blade. We have fought them for you, bled for you, and died for you."

As few whistled, but not many. Given the sheer amount of free food and wine floating about, it will seem in bad taste to argue.

"What is going on here?" Roxas hisses to his mother.

"I told you, I don't know." The Faceless Mistress replies.

The man turns back towards the hill and points. A procession of five men walk down from the pavilion. They wear plain brown robes, their heads and faces clean-shaven. Thin tattoos circle their necks and wrists before traveling upwards like veins toward their eyes. Both guildmasters know who they were immediately. They are the gentle touchers, skilled masters of torture.

Roxas feels his stomach drop as if full of lead. He suddenly knew who was in the cage.

"Damn them," he whispers. "Gods-fucking-damn them."

The five surrounded the cage and raise their hands. With a dramatic sweep of his arms, the man orders the cage opens. The gentle touchers yank out the bolts from its sides. The cage collapses, its walls coming apart like a broken child's toy.

Standing perfectly still, his body tied to a thick pole, is Lexaeus. The gentle touchers rush forward, taking the pole and jamming it into a hole in the stage, securing it tight. Lexaeus looks exhausted but unharmed otherwise. He has been stripped naked but for a plain loincloth. His thick muscles tense against the ropes binding his hands and feet.

"Lexaeus, of the Shadow Guild," the man shouts. "The right hand of Cloud Skyes, the enforcer of the Shadow Guild! We give him to you now, people of Hollow Bastion. To you, and to the gentle touchers."

"Enjoy the show!" he shouts from the hill. "Give them blood!"

One of the gentle touchers puts own a small table he has carried from the wagon. Another unrolls a canvas wrapping filled with instruments. They start with the small pins. Two focus on each hand, taking their pin and slowly pushing them underneath Lexaeus' fingernails. Two more do the same to his toes. The fifth constantly surveys the ropes, tightening when necessary, grabbing hold of Lexaeus and keeping him still when he flexes his fingers or tries to bend his knees.

Once enough pins are in place, they split apart their duties. One takes a small set of pliers and peels back a fingernail. Another takes a thin pin and jams it into the exposed flesh underneath. A different gentle toucher uses a hammer and a blunt piece of wood to smash down on the toenails with the pins underneath. With each strike, Lexaeus' entire body trashes against the ropes.

"Like art." Tifa says as she watches. "Like fucking art."

Roxas' hands shake as he watches. He refuses to look away. Somehow Lexaeus had been caught, and like a damn fool Roxas hadn't gone looking for him. He might have spared his closet enforcer this terrible tragedy. Even better, he might have spared him the spectacle. Hundreds of people howl and cheer with every moan and scream Lexaeus makes. Two gentle touchers simultaneously grab Lexaeus' little toes with pliers and pull them back until they are so out of joint they are the perpendicular to the rest. Roxas watches as Lexaeus, the strongest, fiercest member of his Guild, his trainer and mentor of so many years, weep like a child.

And they haven't even cut him yet. Only a little bit of blood rips from his fingers to the wood stage. The gentle touchers rip off Lexaeus' loincloth, taking their needles and pliers to his groin.

Roxas can feel his entire body grow numb, and slowly he feels like he's disconnecting with himself. Floating out of his own body, and letting something dark and hideous take over him. The members of his father's Guild stand by, their faces horrid and surprised as his. "I need to stop them." He growls lowly.

"No."

"I need to go!" Roxas readies to snap the reins and bring the horse charging into the crowd, plowing over those wretched maggots. But a hand fiercely grasps his wrist. "Let me go!" he screams.

His mother shushes him, and snarls through her teeth. "You can't afford to go down there."

"I can't just leave him down there alone. I need to get to him!" but her group doesn't' falter.

"Sometimes you have to make sacrifices, Roxas. You can't save everyone."

Roxas wrenches his wrist away, causing her to scratch her nails along his skin. "I know about sacrifices." He growls, his voice deep and wraithlike.

"No, you know about loss. Sacrifice is a choice you make, loss is a choice made for you."

"I can't choose to let him die, _Mother_." He says, his voice so cold that Tifa shivers. His face is an icy mask, though barely hiding his rage.

His mother doesn't say anything as she turns back to the crowd, setting her hand over her mouth. Like the night in the portal, Roxas can feel something buzzing down deep in his gullet. He feeds it, encourages it. He keeps his hands clenched, refusing to be weak. No spectacle will defeat him. He stares at Lexaeus' eyes, hoping that for at least one moment they will meet his. He wants Lexaeus to see their death in his stare, to see the rage and know that no man, not even a member of the royal court will escape him.

Roxas is about to snap his reins, when he clutches his head and snarls as a headache pounds its way into his skull. He can see a small glint of something silver in his mother's hand that covers her mouth, but then his thoughts are eradicated when he hears a high-pitched whistle that quickly morphs into a deafening ringing in his ears.

He sees the gentle touchers bring out their knives. Time must've passed, or perhaps not, but the next time Roxas blinks, Lexaeus is dead. The crowd cheers, thrilled with the spectacle. Their cheers rise when Lexaeus' head rolls off the platform.

Roxas feels his hand jerk and his horse is running full speed like a fired arrow as he barrels down the hill. His mother doesn't stop him.

A mew men kick it around, laughing as if is all a game.

Roxas pulls his hood up over his head and secures the mask around his face. The only thing showing is the fire blue of his eyes. His rage fights for a way out.

Another man lifts Lexaeus' head high above him, as if it is a trophy.

He can hear the ringing in his ears, deafening everything else, and blocking out all of the gazes that turn to him at the thundering of his horse's hooves. At least six mercenaries die before they even get the chance to see him, all while Roxas is on horseback.

Before the man has a chance to turn and witness the entourage, Roxas stabs him through his forehead and then leaps off of his horse, ripping the head from the neck. He lands on the stage, carefully to avoid the pool of Lexaeus' blood still draining from his body. All of the gentle touchers die instantly with their necks slashed, and heads decapitated. Roxas using the head as a blunt object to whack another before he pierces his sword right through the man's stomach. Blood soaks the wood of the stage, pooling heavily and dripping off of the edge.

The screams of the prostitutes call his attention. Blood already soaks his legs and his forearms. He turns to the crowd. They rightfully gasp and back away from the stage. He draws his short swords and points them to the crowd.

"_I am Roxas Skyes_." His voice is like gravel, and so deathly calm. "_And_ y_ou shall all be damned_."

There is nothing beneath his cowl – nothing of this world. He has no face.

The crowd has gone still, a majority of them turning deathly pale. He can see Saix, Marluxia, Larxene, but he doesn't care.

The moment one of the mercenaries charges, Roxas unleashes an ungodly howl and unleashes himself upon them.

Tifa watches from her spot atop the hill, her hair billowing out in the chilling breeze that whips up from the shoreline.

The moment Roxas had landed on that stage, none of them stood a chance. He takes down all of the mercenaries that flow on stage with maddening ease. Blood soaks the entire stage and the grass; the wafting scent so powerful that it makes its way to her location on the hill. He watches as he then dives right into the dead center of the crowd, slicing and slashing his way through the crowd like wheat grass. He treats them as threatening as toys. He vaults and lips left and right, avoiding each arrow that is fired, ducking under each sword that goes to slash for him. He watches as he becomes coated in blood, so much that the read starts to show through the blackness of his cloak.

That black fire burns through thought and feeling until all remains is his rage and his prey.

He spares no one. None.

The screams of the women are so horrid and bloodcurdling, that even Tifa can feel the slightest tingle on her spine. She watches, and a wicked grin spreads across her faced as she watches the boy work. His skills and lessons of nineteen years coming through on this day.

He slams and pins a particular woman to the ground. She must be the wife of one of the dukes present because her silk blue dress glimmers in the light. She begs and pleads to Roxas as he has her pinned.

But all he does is smile down at her before he drives his blade through her face. He makes sure to hold her disfigured head up in front of the remaining crowd and stabs his dagger through her neck, and sawing his way through the skin until the head is severed.

Within the matter of ten minutes, _all_ of the members of the party: mercenary, prostitute, sellsword, duke, wife – they are dead.

All completely slaughtered. _Completely_ and _utterly_, _mercilessly_ dead.

The smell of blood becomes so overbearing that even she has to cover her nostrils with her hand.

From there, she watches her son as he walks away from the festival with swagger. Walking so predatorily calm. His feet splashing in the pool of blended blood.

He is entirely covered in crimson. It covers his mask, his arms, his legs. The blades of his weapons have lost their shine in turn for the rustic coating.

Roxas isn't done – not nearly. He is not ready for the bloodletting to be over, but has run out of targets. He needs another outlet before he starts decreasing the entire population of Traverse Town.

Citizens are wise to keep out of his way. The stink of the blood smothering his clothing barely registers as he walks through the middle of the street in the plain open. Citizen are wise to step out of his way, and some gasp and squeal, quick to cover their mouths in fear they will attract his attention. Good, they should feel threatened. In his wake he leaves bloodied footprints, and he grips his weapons as if fearful they will fall part like rustic dust if he lets go. His cape billows out behind him, making no more than a wisp of darkness.

He is fire, he is darkness, he is dust and blood and shadow.

There are only a few others who can match his rage. Onlt they are the hope of the citizens right now.

Carriages and horsemen all stop dead in their route, their passengers about to complain and rant, but are quick to silence as their eyes behold Roxas. Women cower behind men, men cower into their shops.

His face the mask of death itself.

Roxas storms his way through the streets and to the castle gates. He shoves his way through the doors, startling any who were present: guards, servants, members of his guild or the Faceless. All of whom jolt out of his way and gap their mouths in horror. Roxas can see Demyx's cerulean eyes being nothing more than a glimmer of color as he quickly walks by. He can hear calls of his name from behind, but he doesn't stop. He's most likely to kill them as easily as the people at the festival.

He makes his way towards the training room, bursting his way through.

Only three men are present, and it's the men he'd hoped to see. The masters of the Wolf, Lion and Shark Guild are partaking in a water break, their shirts off and cast to the side. Their broad shoulders and muscled arms glint with sweat, chatting among one another until their attention turns towards the doors.

Immediately, their faces drop, and their features hardening.

They literally drop their cups of water to the marble floor, and draw their swords – not from their fear of danger. But because they knew.

They've seen this part of him before; and they have survived it every time. But just barely. With Roxas' growing strength, he had defeated two of them once. That was the first time they've come close to death.

Roxas unclasps his bloodied cloak and leaves is wherever he happens to discard it. He brings his bloodied swords forward and takes place at the center of the ring. The Guildmasters immediately swarm him, taking prowling steps until they circle him like a pack of predators.

Terra faces Roxas straight ahead, while Leon and Cid are on his left and right.

Roxas' world is full of screaming and wailing, so loud he drowns in it.

He does not utter a sound as he unleashes his power on the Guildmasters, the clang of metal that shakes the chandelier above them and sets the foundation rumbling. He feeds his power into the masters and their weapons, silently begging them to take it, to use it.

The Guildmasters, sensing his intent, devour his power whole, absorbing every last blow until their entire bodies throb and the dark fire inside Roxas flickers, preparing for more.

So Roxas fights, and fights, and fights.

* * *

Axel looks up from his platter of pasta and fried vegetables as the door creaks open. He sits across from Vanitas, of whom his heart skips a beat, as he turns his head towards the door. But it's not Roxas who enters, nor is it a ferocious creature.

The door finishes opening and Sora, clad in a whit tunic and brown pants, stands before them. He doesn't look at the two men, nor does he move as he stands in the doorway. His eyes are upon the floor, and rivers of tears run down his cheeks.

"Sora?" Vanitas asks, getting to his feet. "What happened?"

Sora's shoulders rise and fall. Slowly, he lifts his head, revealing red-rimmed eyes. "I – I didn't know where else to go," he says over a sob.

Axel finds berthing a bit difficult as he asks. "What happened?"

It is then that the two men notice the boy's hands slowly lifting, as if he holds the problem in his hands. They tremble severely.

"He massacred them." Sora whispers, his eyes wide. He shakes his head, as if he is denying his own words.

Both men go still.

"Who?" speaks Vanitas.

Sora lets out a strangled sob, and a part of both the men breaks at the agony in the sound.

"There was the annual festival happening on the outskirts of town. Everyone attends, rich and poor." Tears drip from Sora's cheeks and onto his white tunic. He curls his hands tightly into fists. "Roxas and his mother had gone out for a ride were there. But something had happened, I don't know what, but . . ." Sora breathes hard, fighting to get the words out. "But Roxas killed them all, even the children."

Their dinner rises in their throat.

Five hundred – butchered.

Butchered, by _Roxas_.

Both men become aware of the guards standing in the doorway, their eyes wide and gleaming. How many of those people had been people that they knew – that Sora had known?

"I just saw him just now." Sora trembles, and Vanitas delicately takes the boy's forearms in his hands, Sora griping Vanitas for dear life and control. His arms shake violently. "He barged through the castle doors . . . he was completely covered in blood." Sora's eyes widen, fear spreading along his entire face. His pupils shrink down to the size of pinpricks of terror. "And his _eyes_. By the gods . . . his _eyes_!"

Axel immediately pictures Roxas' elven form. Those pointed ears, his canines and frailty in his eyes.

He plops down into the chair at the head of the table, fighting back nausea. He grips the arm of the chair, Vanitas casting him a glance over his shoulder.

Vanitas lifts one hand carefully to the servant boy's face. He doesn't say a word, but his eyes ripple. Sora's eyes find his.

As if that one look broke the spell that had been holding the servant boy in place, Sora rushes into Vanitas' arms. His clawed hands press hard into Vanitas' skin. Sora weeps. Unable to say anything, the assassin simply holds him – for as long as it takes for the pain to ease.


	33. Chapter 32

A cooling breeze kisses down Maleek's neck. He stands outside on his snow-covered balcony huddled in his rabbit-fur lined robe. The snow that has fallen has been delicately dusted off of his balcony, but the stone still bites at his skin with frostiness.

The new had reached the castle not long after it had spread like a plague around the city. Five hundred of Traverse Town's citizens, killed like animals. And done by Roxas' hand. Apart from the fact that he nearly faced what could be argued as half a king's army, all by himself, Roxas had killed innocent civilians. Men, women, children.

_Gods_.

Maleek's grip on the stone banister tightens. Something horrible must've happened enough that Roxas couldn't even organize his morals enough to know when to stop the most horrid bloodshed this town has ever witnessed.

No one in the castle has even spoken to him yet, and Maleek doubts anyone ever will until Roxas speaks the first word. Still, when Tifa arrived home, she looked indifferent. Perhaps even pleased.

Maleek sighs, puffing out a cloud of air. He watches it dissipate in the chilling breeze. Something had happened; Roxas isn't the kind of person to kill hundreds of innocents without reason, even if people would argue otherwise. Even with his past, still his father only sent out men who were rivals, people who deserved it. What had happened? That one question can put everyone's minds into understanding, if not perspective.

He needs to find out. Roxas hasn't been the same, and Maleek can't be the only one who sees this. But who will bother to speak with Roxas after this? His Guild members even seemed distraught by him when he barged in through the doors.

Walking back into his chamber, Maleek settles into a chair by his fireplace. He rests a hand on his chin as he watches the fire cracks the logs in two.

* * *

Roxas sits by a window in his bedroom, watching snow dance in the afternoon air. It's only been a day after his massacre on the townspeople of Traverse Town. And Roxas woke up this morning feeling unbelievably exhausted, hollow, and as heavy as a lead weight.

The entire castle has gone silent, as if every living person and even the castle itself has been quieted by his assault on the Guildmasters. They had gobbled down every spark of his fire blazing Roxas had launched at them. They gave him their full attention as he worked into exhaustion.

The moment Roxas collapses to the floor, did the Guildmasters follow soon. They all breathed heavily, the training room growing incredibly hot, and Roxas' tunic sticking to his body.

Cid being the only one who said: "That has to be the worst we've seen you."

Roxas only spared him a glare, barely expressing his gratitude to the masters before he pushed himself to his feet and made his way back to his chambers. Along the route, none of the servants or even members of the guilds even looked at him. Once Roxas reached his room, he locked his bedroom door and further locked himself into the bathroom. He shucked off hi clothing and bathed, scrubbing himself until his skin hurt, washing his hair twice. When he emerged, he slipped into a night tunic and crawled into bed. Artemis hopped up and joined him seconds later. She waited until Roxas had settled his head into the pillow before she walked up to him and laid down beside him, her head resting on his chest.

She now lies on the floor just below his feet as Roxas as the clock chimes eleven. He had ordered breakfast in bed, and couldn't help but feel a little disappointed no one had come to see if he was alright. But then again, he did storm into the castle, looking no different than death itself, coated in blood. Maybe they all just assumed he was tired after his fight with the Guildmasters.

But he is not tired. And he is not done. There is still wildfire in his mind, writhing, endless, damning. He lets it dim to embers, lets the grief and horror die down, too. Cold, glittering calm is now flowing in his veins.

Sora hadn't joined him for breakfast, nor did Axel, or Vanitas, or Demyx. His heart tugs in his chest and he swallows thickly. Out of his window, he can see the city buzzing with life as citizens walk the streets, dressed in thick cloaks and jackets; women lifting their skirts to avoid staining them with snow, men tipping their hats to friends with a gracious hello. Roxas has been like this for over an hour now, and he pulls his blanket tighter around himself, the heat of the roaring fire not adequately reaching his seat by the window.

But there is something about their gait that makes them seem, off. And it's not just the citizens, but the guards as well. They seem more vigilant, more aware, but their posture still shows fear. They look left and right, wielding their weapons more often than normal when on a daily patrol.

Though he feels the tiniest smile tug the corner of his mouth, Roxas can't help but wonder if the news of the massacre, and his strolling through the streets is the cause for the change in the city. They seem that kind of different that you can't explain, but can see.

He doesn't feel guilty, not in the slightest; but that's mostly because he can only remember glimpses of what had happened. No one has come to speak with him, and Roxas is disturbingly glad, because he wouldn't have answers for them anyway. And that has to be what unnerves him the most.

Roxas hugs his knees to his chest and rests his chin. He remembers feeling outrageously angry at the gentle touchers for what they've done to Lexaeus, he remembers feeling guilty and furious and ashamed at himself for not noticing and searching for him. And that rage at the citizens for enjoying his torture. He remembers gripping the reins of his horse, snapping them harshly, the sound of thundering hooves.

And that retched ringing in his ears during the entire event of it. It blocked out everything, his vision, his hearing, and his humanity. The next he realized, he was coated in blood, and desperately trying to control himself from harming all of the citizens as he passed by them in the middle of the street; out in plain sight like a mad man. His father would have his head for being so careless. But at the time, Roxas was only focusing on keeping his anger tamed enough until he reached the castle.

He can still feel his sweat beneath his cloak and mask, his heart racing as if it was rounding up to burst out of his chest. His vision was blurry around the edges, tunneled into focusing only on the castle. He kept thinking about the masters, picturing their faces in such detail that it was all he could think of as he shoved his way through the gates and up the steps.

As he goes through the series of events as best he can, he realizes how stupid he was to walk in the streets. He was in sight! And he marked his path straight towards the castle of the Faceless! He had expected to see a mob approaching the castle with pitchforks and torches, but it would seem that their attempt of defiance has now been crumpled by fear. Citizen who pass by the castle even cover their eyes and walk distinctively quicker until they are out of site.

Despite what he might've thought, the carnage of the scene, that _he_ created, it didn't give him relief, or pleasure, or even pride that he was avenging his former guild member. He merely felt . . . hollow. Just as he had been since Ventus' death. That gap that he thought was closing after receiving the words he didn't think he needed to hear, it only spreads wider and wider. He can feel something stirring inside him, living within that abyss of darkness; writhing in that deafening silence that has haunted him for the past few months. And he worries and fears that should the opening become too wide, that thing will be unleashed, and no one is safe if it does.

As he hears the clock chime noon for lunch, Roxas sighs and removes himself from his seat, Artemis quick to her feet with ears erect. Roxas pats her head and discards the blanket, tossing it to his bed.

He will not cower in his rooms over a simple meal, and he should have nothing to feel embarrassed or ashamed about. Besides, they don't know the entire story that unraveled and Roxas plans on telling them whether they want to listen or not. Once they hear of what happened to Lexaeus –

The pain hits Roxas like a grueling punch to his chest; the punch being wrapped in barbed wire accompanied by a wristlet of daggers. Roxas clutches his chest and starts to gasp. He grips one of the best posts and eased himself onto the edge of the bed. He feels the mattress sink and Artemis' tongue lick the back of his ear. Petting the dog's ear, Roxas takes deep breaths, willing his grief to settle. He takes one breath after another – in and out, in and out.

He can feel his panic attack coming as he sees images of Ventus' death collide violently with the image of Lexaeus tied to the pole with pins under his nails. He tries to take deep breaths.

_Try and breath with me_.

Roxas can hear Vanitas' voice, and his forehead starts to moisten with sweat. He continues to breath, but his hands are shaking.

Then something else joins in his hallucinations, and Roxas is terrified at what he sees. It's a creature that is humanoid in stature, but it's legs mimic that of a dog's hind legs, knees bent the wrong way and the haunches it has. Its arms are long, the knuckles of it nearly brushing the floor. Its claws extend out to that, curling in perfect arch. The creature's skin is a pale-goldish color, stretched tight to reveal its rib cage and its hipbones. Its eyes are a very pale yellow color, and its ears are sharply pointed, and its fangs grow to stretch past its lower jaw.

Roxas tries to blink, but his vision is black around the edges. His hand slips and he feels his bum his the wooden floor, and he desperately feels for its cool surface beneath his hand to he can try to picture his room once more. He keeps breathing. Out of his right ear he hears the worried whimper of Artemis.

The coolness of her tongue licks against Roxas' cheek and over his heavy breathing, he can feel her step into his lap and lick his forehead, then his cheeks, his chin. Roxas opens his eyes, his vision out of focus, but he can still see the outline of her furry body as she sits with her paws glued to the floor and continually nuzzling and licking his face. Roxas' hands feel for her shoulders and he grips them, pulling the dog close. He feels her breathing, and she stays still, pressing her head into his.

He continually pets at her shoulders, taking a breath in and out. His heart starts to calm, and Roxas fights back his nausea. Artemis' tongue continues to lick away the perspiration on his forehead.

Finally, after his heart starts to slow, Roxas slowly rocks with Artemis still motionless in his arms. He didn't think the castle taught this to all of their dogs; this had to have been simple instinct, and an amazing instinct rather.

Once final breath calms him down and he sighs. He releases the dog, though she doesn't move, she simply paws at his hand and Roxas pets her shoulder once more. The dog licks his cheek and this time he pulls back and gives a weakened laugh.

"Thank you." he whispers to the dog as she nuzzles his cheek.

Roxas leans his head back, pressing it against the endboard of the bed. He wipes his entire face with the sleeves of his tunic. He readies to push himself to his feet, Artemis springing to her feet. She stands statue still and waits. Roxas sways on his feet, holding his head, but he regains it after he settles himself. He feels his shirt stick to his back, his body suddenly moistened as if he did a double run this morning during training.

He walks towards his dressing room and immediately washes his face. When he looks up to the mirror, he sighs. The face staring back doesn't seem like him; with his gaunt features, the purple skin under his eyes and the exhaustion that swims within his nearly colorless irises. It's like someone had sucked the life out of him, and maybe in a way, they did.

All this time he had expected to find refuge with the Faceless. Expected to find a goodnight's sleep with a full stomach and no worries. But now, it's like that vision . . . that fantasy never really existed. He seems more stressed than ever, he feels even more distant with his mother than he anticipated, and he can feel himself getting pulled away from his guild members. Hunter and Lexaeus being an example of that. Resting his elbows on the counter, Roxas sighs, and suddenly feels like crying.

The only thing keeping him from breaking down is that promise that Axel had given. That beautiful vision of a new life away from blood and kingdoms and assassins; where the mountains stretch up to touch the sky to touch the clouds and pierce the stars. A wide open space where flower-covered meadows stretch for miles and the fresh smell of dew drops on leaves replaces that of blood and rotting flesh.

Roxas quickly wipes down his back and chest, changing his tunic and rolling up the sleeves past his elbows. When he walks out, his boots ticking against the wood, Artemis is sitting near the bed, on attention and her head turns to Roxas.

He bends to one knee and the dog comes trotting up to him, sitting once she is in his arms. Once again embracing the hound, he strokes her still puppy-soft head and kisses it. "Thank you." he repeats. He rises to a stand and Artemis joins him. "Now, how about we go for lunch?"

As Roxas opens the doors to his room, he makes the gap wide enough that he and Artemis can stroll out together. The guards don't say anything as they make their way down the hall and then the stairs towards the dining hall.

In the hall, lunch has been laid out and it is truly an impressive one at that. The table is nearly covered with platters of professionally made sandwiches, large bowls of fruits both whole and sliced, the wafting scent of rice bowls and dips linger long with tea, and fish, and muffins and porridges, and milk and coffee.

The only thing that makes it unpleasant is the fact that no one is speaking. Or even if they do, all the attention turns to them, and it's even more awkward then. The Guildmasters, Terra, Cid, and Leon, helped themselves to some tea; but despite their best efforts, they could not hide their grunts of pain nor the bruises that splotch along their arms and legs. No doubt Roxas had given them all of their strength, and frankly it's suspiring they're even still alive. They want to talk about what had happened, but at the same time they don't because it had to have been something incredibly bad enough for Roxas to slaughter _five hundred_ citizens.

Sora had long since returned to his own rooms, tears dried and shoulders squared once more. He hasn't spoken to Vanitas nor Axel since yesterday, and while he finds it hard for the boy to be processing this when he had faced a demon of another world, people are unpredictable that way.

As Axel sits next to Vanitas, Demyx across from him and Luxord across from Axel, Axel can feel the anxiety everyone is feeling, and Demyx is squirming so much in his chair Axel is debating whether he really wants to speak about the subject or if he desperately needs to use the restroom. None of the Faceless members have showed up for breakfast, and Axel can only hope it's because they'd rather dine with each other after last night.

Finally, after Demyx puffs out his cheeks and folds in his lips, as if physically attempting to keep the words down, Demyx huffs. "Okay, look we all know what is lingering in the air like and elephant in the room, so let's just put it out there! What happened to Roxas?!"

"If any of us knew the answer, this conversation would've already happened last night." Xigbar speaks.

"But none of us do, and I suppose we're all just waiting for someone who does to speak." then says Luxord.

"The only other person is his mother, and we all know how very forthcoming she is with information." Zack says.

"Something terrible must've happened." Demyx says. "Roxas isn't that kind of person to just kill people without reason." He then turns to Axel, with hope in his eyes that makes Axel want to cringe. "Right, Axel?"

Axel merely shakes his head. "I don't know." He mumbles.

"Even with his past with the Guild, Cloud always gave him _real_ reasons to go after his targets." says Vanitas. "Whether they were rivals of the Guild, wanted to start rebellions against them, or just dukes who have long since outlived their use with the Guild."

"Still, it would seem he had _some_ form of morals compared to this." Axel says.

"It might just be from your lack of experience in our line of work, Axel," says Terra, grunting slightly as she reaches for some sausages. "But Roxas has always been this way. If you push him off that edge, that boy . . . he quickly becomes that killer that Cloud has raised and always known he was."

"I've told him before how this place just isn't right. I told how we needed to leave, and now I'm sure we have to. We need to get him out of here; he is . . . he is becoming . . ."

"He is not becoming anything, Axel." Vanitas retorts. "You just finally saw everything. And once you saw that part of him –"

"I've gotten to know Roxas enough that this isn't like him."

Vanitas' heart cruelly pities the man, for all that Axel has surely been realizing these past few months.

"You can't pick and choose what parts of him to love." Leon quietly speaks. "Just as you cannot pick which parts of him you accept."

"I don't –"

"You do. But what's done is done Axel. And there is no going back, no matter how hard you try to change things. Like it or not, you played a role in getting us all to this point, too." Cid counters. "If you can't love Roxas for _all_ that he is, then you're nothing more than a coward."

Axel slams his palms flatly on the table, rattling the tableware. "Call me what you want, but what happened last night . . . Roxas isn't who you think he is. He's something more; more than just the Heir of Darkness."

"Sounds like you know about what happened last night." The entire tables tenses when Sora walks into the dining room, dressed in a green tunic lined with gold embroidery. Stares follow him, but Sora looks bored and unphased, professionally neutral.

"I do." Axel admits. "But it's not something I wish to discuss."

"I wouldn't advise keeping secrets from him." Sora says as he takes his seat at the table. "Or from us."

"I'm still trying to process it myself. I'd rather keep the secret than be made fun of." Axel nearly snarls.

"We each had a part in this, Axel." Demyx speaks softly. "Each of us set him down this path, to revealing who he is, to whatever he decides to do now."

"You don't know the half of it." Axel mumbles softly.

"You think I wanted any of this to happen?" Axel drops his silverware, splaying his arms. "If I could, I would pit it all back the way it was. If I could, I he wouldn't be an assassin and he wouldn't be so broken."

"Of course – of course you still see him as the problem. And of course you wish he wasn't who he is." Vanitas growls, his ember eyes glowing.

"How dare you! You know him the better than me. How could you be so calm about this?" Axel's voice grows loud.

"Obviously because I've seen this before. I've experienced it firsthand, and I've come to accept him. But you, you're not really scared of those things, are you? No – it's what they represent. The change. But let me tell you," Vanitas breathes, nearly standing him his seat. "things have already changed. And changed because of _you_. Roxas is an assassin, a deadly one at that – there is no undoing that, no getting rid of it. And you do not have a right to wish he were not what he is. The only thing you have a right to do is decide whether you are his enemy or his friend."

He doesn't know all of Roxas' story, doesn't know what has been truth and what has been lies, or what it has been like in Twilight Town to slave for a monster of his father, or to submit to a woman who had abandoned him. But Axel has seen him – seen glimpses of the person beneath, regardless of name or title. And while he bears little knowledge, what he does understand is that Roxas' secret has been kept from everyone. And until he has enough information to further his point, he will keep it between him and Vanitas.

As Axel is about to retort, the doors to the dining room open again, followed by the quick pitter-pattering feet echoing against the floor. A moment later, Vanitas braces himself against his chair as Artemis flings herself at him, all wagging tails and bountiful kisses. "Whoa! Gods you're getting big." He tells the dog. She licks his cheek one last time and sprints off around the table to greet the other members.

"Nice to know she's warmed up to you." a soft male voice says. He sounds so normal, so like himself that Vanitas nearly falls out of the chair.

Roxas is standing a few feet away, arms crossed. His face is grave and pale, but his eyes shine with faint amusement. He wears a dark blue tunic no one has ever seen before, with gold embroidery that glint in the dim light. In fact, his whole outfit seems new.

Demyx is the first to speak, and everyone tenses, praying to all the gods he keeps things simple. "Good afternoon, Roxas."

"Same to you." Roxas replies as he makes his way towards the table, sitting at the head seat closest to the door.

He pulls up a plate and Vanitas wordlessly passes him a bowl of white rice, then a plate of garlic bread, then a small bowl of porridge. He doesn't acknowledge Sora, or Axel. The silence that settles between them is thick enough to cause a few men to shift in their feet.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

Roxas looks up to him, his chin down, eyes upwards. The look alone just makes Axel want to protect him.

What else can they say to him? No doubt a part of Roxas wants to tell them what happened, to shed even the lightest of enlightenment on what had caused the death of the five hundred people at the festival. The fact still sends chills down their spines. Perhaps his bluntness will be of use today, should he decide to speak.

"Normal, but not better." Roxas murmurs. He rips a slice of bread in half and pops it into his mouth. Artemis has since finished her rounds of hellos to the men, and now sits between Vanitas and Roxas' chairs, watching their every bite, ready to devour any stray crumbs. Roxas casts his glance over to the Guildmasters. "How are you three?"

Terra is the first to return his gaze and gives a small smile. "Pretty sore. Just shows how much we missed out on a good workout."

The three masters chuckle and Roxas gives them a small smile. As he spares Vanitas a glance, Vanitas can't help but chuckle as Roxas leans over, stabbing his fork into half a remaining muffin on his plate and moving it to his own. Vanitas uses his foot to gently shove Artemis away as the dog tries to snatch some food off the table.

Vanitas dares himself to speak to him. "So, are you calm enough to tell us what happened last night?"

Roxas' hands pause, but they stiffly continue their motion of stirring a large mound of sugar into his porridge. "Calm, but not emotionally ready." He admits.

"They say if you keep things bottled up, you'll end up doing something you might regret." Demyx carefully encourages.

"Well it's too late for me." Roxas says, his voice dry and bitter.

"Roxas, please." He looks up to find Axel's eyes swimming with controlled anger. A heavy pain pierces his chest. "Just tell us what happened."

Roxas stares at Axel for a long while. The silence in the room is shattering. The haunted look in his eyes makes him mimic a wraith. Finally he takes a breath. "They took Lexaeus." His throat is raw though he spoke mere seconds ago.

Immediately everyone's face turn deathly pale. Some of them swallow, as if to swallow down their shock, surprise, grief, anger. Roxas can see their spines straighten, their hands fist, and the gleam in their eyes.

"They took him, and tortured him; for nearly an hour before cutting off his head." Roxas can feel his anger growing once more, and his hands start to tremble. "I had to make them pay." This was more towards Axel than anyone. Artemis whines, nuzzling her nose into his hand. He doesn't respond.

"So you thought slaughtering everyone there, all of the innocents, was the proper solution?" Axel counters. A challenge. It is not to defy or question, but to beg for realization.

"_None of them were_ innocent." Roxas suddenly speaks darkly. His voice contorts heavily into gravel.

"Not even the women?" Axel says, his voice rising.

"They all deserved it!" Roxas snaps, slamming his fisted hands onto the table. "Anyone who dares to do that to my guild members, or who dare defy us must be punished!"

"Us?" Axel catches. Roxas swallows, but keeps his glare. "As in who? All of _them_?" Axel waves his hand out to his side, splaying the Guild members seated at the table. "Or as in your father."

Roxas wants to scream, and reach over the table and graze his nails along Axel's neck. Gods, dear gods help him.

"Is that how you handle things, Roxas? Is that what your father taught you?! that anyone who defies your guild must be paid in blood?"

Roxas springs up from his seat, so fast that it topples to the floor behind him. "Don't act like you know me and my Guild like your pirate crew. You don't know how we work. And this has nothing to do with my father. This is about my new Brotherhood, and how I had swore to protect them!"

"Then prove to me you're smarter than this, Roxas. Prove to me that you're above just killing off people like the weapon your father forged you into!"

"None of them deserved to breathe! You didn't see what they did to him!"

"And you think your debt has been paid through more blood and death? You killed _five hundred_ people!"

"I was just avenging one of the few Guild members who I actually cared about, and now I'm a bad guy?!"

"Roxas there were _children_!" Axel screams.

The room is instantly quiet, the air thick as if everyone is holding their breath.

Roxas' lip trembles. "What?" he breathes. The pain slowly comes towards his heart, clenching it with hand forged of barbed wire.

_Children_.

"There were children at that festival, Roxas." Axel's voice trembles as the tears in his eyes reflect their deep emerald color. And you just slaughtered them all like animals! What about them? What did they ever do to deserve the taste of your steel?" Axel's voice quiets.

Roxas' body grows numb with a paralyzing cold. How . . . ? How can he not remember _that_? Roxas can feel his blood run cold. His flexes his hands, but he can feel his body shaking so severely he might fall apart.

_Children_.

"Answer me, Roxas!" Axel demands. "What. Did. They. _Do_?"

Roxas' lip trembles. "I don't know."

Axel's lips press into a thin line, and when Roxas sees the color drain from his eyes, it's as if Roxas detaches himself from his thoughts once more, and his body becomes a physical statue.

"You don't know." Axel repeats, his voice deep and raspy. Like it comes from the back of his throat.

That look, Roxas has seen it before. He knows it all too well.

It is a look of absolute _hatred_.

The promise, the promise that was given to him by Axel . . . that picturesque vision of their life together, shatters and crackles like a broken mirror. The fissures obscure the picture, making it difficult to see.

Axel folds in his lips and nods. The motion makes Roxas queasy. "Well, until you figure it out, you can come find me."

Roxas feels his stomach lurch.

"But until then, I don't want any part of this." He shakes his head and waves his hand palm down like he's conjuring something. "Or _you_."

Something inside Roxas shatters.

Axel keeps his deadly gaze on him until she starts to walk past Roxas and out of the room. The door doesn't shut behind him, but his footsteps are the loudest thing even as they morph onto the carpet, then disappear down the hallway.

His lungs burn; his next breath rattles as on the way in.

This must be a lie, because Axel must still love him, his bright eyes and his cheeks flushed and his body full of power and strength, standing in a shaft of light in the training room. Axel must still love him. Doesn't he?

_But if he did, why would he abandon you instead of giving you him the most_?

Something inside Roxas collapses. His chest is so tight, suffocating. Can't breathe.

"Roxas," Sora starts. He extends a hand to Roxas' shoulder.

A hot burst of fire explodes in Roxas' chest. He smacks Sora's hand away; his eyes blaring with anger.

Tears brim the edges of his eyes, blurring everyone's features, making it hard to see.

"Roxas . . ." Sora whispers. But to him, his voice sounds muffled, like Roxas has submerged his head underwater. The details of Sora's face have also become difficult to see, the world smearing together into dull colors.

Roxas takes a step back before Sora could come any closer. Suddenly, the Cistern becomes too cramped with the other members.

Roxas wants to get out. Roxas _needs_ to get out.

He instantly whirls around and shoves aside his chair. He stalks out of the room, Artemis close on his heels.

The moment he's out of hearing range of the hall, he starts running. His feet carry him across the hallways lined with crimson draperies and rugs. Artemis keeps in perfect level with him, her mouth not even hanging open, but like she's on a hunt, chasing her prey.

The next thing he knows, he's on curled into himself on the bed of his bedroom chambers. Faint shafts of daylight come in through the windows back behind him. Roxas is hot and wet and winded, but his escape has done little to subdue the hysteria rising up inside him. It will drown him unless it's released. Even with his shaking hands, he balls up his sleeve, stuffs it in his mouth, and begins to scream. How long he continues, he doesn't know. But by the time he's done, his voice is almost gone. Artemis is lying at his side, breathing with her tongue out, but she doesn't leave him.

Roxas had read somewhere, once, that crying defies scientific explanation. Tears are only meant to lubricate the eyes. There is no real reason for tear glands to overproduce tears at the behest of emotion.

Ventus always thought we cry to release the animal parts of us without losing our humanity. Roxas now thinks he is, _was_, right. Because inside him is a beast that snarls, growls, and strains for freedom, toward Axel.

As hard as he tries, Roxas can't kill the animal. He can't kill it.

So he sobs into his hands instead.

Roxas hunches over, unable to support his own pain. He sinks to the ground, the wood is cold under his knees. Still can't breathe. Roxas presses both palms to his chest and rocks back and forth to free the tension in his chest.

He stuffs his face into his plush pillow and sobs. At least his chambers are so big and his door closed that he won't be heard by many. He pulls a thin sheet up over him, and Artemis burrows her way under and ruffles around before popping her head back out, lying next to Roxas, her tongue licking away his tears.

Still fresh tears fill Roxas' eyes, causing the room to swim. He blinks and they fall searing the skin of his already raw cheeks. Shutting his eyes tight, Roxas wills the tide of despair welling up within her to subside. A sob rises from the depths, but he catches it before it could escape. He swallows hard, forcing it down.

It feels like drowning.

* * *

A few days later, Axel turns the crisp yellow pages of a heavy tome, squirming in his seat. Like the countless others he'd tried, it is just page after page of scribbled nonsense. But it is worth researching, if the Elven gene was a part of Roxas' heritage as well as being connected to the Faceless . . . somehow. The more he knows about what kind of elf Roxas is – why and how he has it in his genes – the better. While a part of him felt extremely broken after he had walked out of the dining hall, most of him agreed and _knew_ that this is for the better. He needed to make sure he had credible evidence, and being with Roxas would just have been too distracting, and who's to say he'll even like, let alone be open to discussing it.

Knowing that Roxas wouldn't hide away in his rooms, Axel decided it would be best for him if he avoided Roxas. So during the last few days, he did his workouts later in the morning, and kept his schedule tight to make sure he wasn't in the training room with Roxas.

Not long after the scene he and Roxas had created, Vanitas came knocking on Axel's door and was about to give him a stern lecture about everything Roxas been through, but Axel stopped him dead when he told Vanitas that Roxas was Elven. Though he conveniently leaves out the part of finding out Cloud is sheltered in the castle dungeons. At first, Vanitas seemed bewildered, but once Axel invited him in and the two discussed over some sweets and lemon tea, his eyes were wide and his skin was pale.

They now sit with one another in the library, looking over any tomes and volumes they can find about the Elven kind. The librarian didn't seem too suspicious when Vanitas had bluntly said what they were looking for, but perhaps that bluntness gave the impression that they have nothing to hide.

Of course, there is little to nothing to be found. His eyes sore, Axel looks up from his book and sighs. The library is gloomy, and were it not for Vanitas flipping pages, it would have been wholly silent.

"Done?" Vanitas asks, closing the volume he was reading. At least inside the library, he doesn't have to think about assassins and secrets and brutes. Here, he can savor the quiet and the calm.

"No." Axel grumbles, drumming his fingers on the table.

"At least you found a proper way to spend your spare time." A hint of a smile appears on his lips. "You should hope no one else hears about this. Gods know what they'd do if they found out about a creature in their home." Vanitas chuckles to himself and opens another book, leaning back into the chair. Axel stares at him for a moment, wondering if he'd stop laughing at Axel if he knew just how powerful Roxas was. How it might help him too.

Axel straightens in his chair, rubbing a nasty bruise on his leg. Naturally, is it from an intentional blow of Vanitas' wooden staff. Axel glares at the assassin, but Vanitas continues reading.

He is merciless during their lessons, but at least his temper had improved somewhat with each other. He did _seem_ a bit sorry for hitting Axel's leg so hard. Axel supposed he liked him. At least it wasn't as nearly severe are Roxas' training with Maleek. Maleek had Roxas walking on his hands, juggling blades . . . while he's sure it's not anything new for Roxas, Axel is sure it has to be unpleasant.

Axel slams shut the tome, dust flying into the air. It is pointless.

"What?" Vanitas asks straightening.

"Nothing." Axel grumbles.

What _were_ the elves, and where did they come from? And more importantly, why did Roxas have a trace of them in his genes? The Elven kind was known to only breed with their own kind, believing the mortal gene would contaminate their purebred. But why is it he can never find information on their breed? They'd been all over the walls of the catacombs, too. An ancient culture from a forgotten time – what are they doing _here_? And in the home of an Assassin's Guild. There has to be a connection.

So far, Axel hasn't learned much: according to this one book, the Elves were an evolved race of humans. Elves are often pictured as youthful-seeming men and women of great beauty living in forests and other natural places, underground or in wells and springs. They have been portrayed to be long-lived or immortal and they have magical powers attributed to them. Though, according to _this_ book, no trace of mortality exists within the species: like fairies, elves were said to be magical, diminutive shape-shifters. They lived in kingdoms found in forests, meadows, or hollowed-out tree trunks, all closely related in folklore. However, through the years, another type of elf emerged, one with a somewhat different nature and form than the mischievous and diminutive sprites of yore. Some elves are slender, human-sized, and beautiful, with fine — almost angelic — features. Though not immortal, these elves were said to live hundreds of years.

"Stop glowering and sulking." Vanitas chides. He looks at the title of the book. Neither of them had brought up the scene created in the dining hall, and Vanitas doesn't glean no more information. "Remind be again what we're looking for?"

"Well our initial intake would be to find something about Roxas' family tree." Axel says, covering the book with his arms. But Vanitas' eyes narrow farther and Axel sighs. "But since I doubt the Dark Mistress has anything useful, we should at least brush up on our information of the species in general."

Axel waits for the sneer and sarcasm, but it doesn't come. Vanitas only says: "And? Why the frustration?"

Axel looks at the ceiling, pouting. "All I can find is just . . . just radical and outlandish theories. I never knew _any_ of this! _Why_? Some books claim the Elves are impish little creatures that pull pranks and live in trees, or human-sized creatures with incredibly beautiful creatures with magical powers."

"I've heard of it before." Vanitas says, picking up his book. But his eyes remain fixed on Axel. "I always through the Elves were a form of Fae, or Fairy."

"So did I. But Elves aren't just mythical creatures, at least not in the northern parts of the continent, and it doesn't say whether they worship any form of god."

Vanitas sets the book in his lap. "Why not just go to Cloud and ask him? I'm sure might know something."

"And if he doesn't?"

"If it concerns Roxas' safety, I'm sure he's more than willing to find the information. No doubt it'll take _much_ less time."

Axel doesn't answer as he tickles the corners of the pages with his thumb, rapidly flipping them over and over.

"At least it's interesting enough." Vanitas adds.

He's not old enough to vividly recall the burnings and executions ten years ago. What had it been like to grow up in the shadow of the kingdom ruled by the man who had ordered so much destruction? To have lived here when the royal families were slaughter, when seers and magic-wielders were burned alive, and the world fell into darkness and sorrow?

But Axel goes on, needing to dump the contents of his mind in case all the pieces somehow assembled by speaking them aloud. "There's an idea that before the Gods arrived, there was life – and ancient civilization, but somehow, they disappeared. Perhaps through the realms of magic. Ruins exist – ruins too old to be of even Fae making."

How is this connected to Roxas' heritage and bloodline? They are definitely grasping at straws.

Vanitas sets his feet down and puts the book on the table. "Can I be honest with you?" Vanitas leans closer, and Axel leans to meet him as he whispers. "You sound like a raving lunatic."

Axel makes a disgusted noise and sits back, seething. "Sorry for having some concern for Roxas' wellbeing!"

"As you said, these sound like radical and outlandish theories." Vanitas starts reading again, but still look to him. "Again, why the frustration?"

Axel rubs his eyes. "Because." Axel says, almost whining. "Because I want a straightforward answer to _what_ the Elves are, and why Roxas has a trace of their genetics inside him, of all people."

"Of course." Vanitas scoffs as he returning to his book.

"Do you not understand the danger her could be in? If people find out who he is, they'll come after him and use him. Or even kill him!"

A librarian lifts her head and glares at Axel through her spectacles. Axel lowers his head and Vanitas scoots his chair closer.

"So what are you going to do when you do find all of your desired information? Ship him off somewhere where he can hide out with the rest of his "kind"?"

"If it means keeping him safe from those who can harm him –"

"Axel have you learned nothing!" Vanitas seethes. "Roxas can handle himself."

"Not if he doesn't know what he is."

"Even if you tell him, even if he wants to embrace it or reject it, he can fight for himself. You're getting yourself all worked up over this, and you're not thinking clearly."

Axel shakes his head. "You didn't see the power he holds, Vanitas."

"I didn't need to. I knew Roxas was different from the moment I met him. And I still accepted him for who he is. I didn't see him as some _creature_."

"I never said _I_ did!"

"No, but you're acting like it. You find out this one secret about him, which probably isn't even the biggest ones he's kept, and suddenly you're so, cautious around him. You're treating him differently without even realizing it. Is it really hard for you to accept him?"

Axel snarls and shakes his head again. He looks to the books on the table. There is also the idea that as with fairies, elves were said to secretly steal healthy human babies and replace them with their own kind. These changelings appeared at first glance to be human babies, but if they became seriously sick or temperamental, parents would sometimes suspect that their own child had been abducted by elves. There were even legends instructing parents on how to get their real child back from its elven abductors.

This disturbed Axel at the speculation. Could Roxas not even be the son of Cloud? What is there was another family of his entirely who had traded him off? He definitely won't like the idea of _more_ parents not wanting him, it's just the same scenario. And if so, did Cloud even know?

When Axel first stumbled across the notion of Elves, days ago, is has seemed interesting, and so he'd researched, digging through piles of old parchment, only to find more puzzling theories.

The Elves are both real and invisible beings. Humans cannot see them, but they can be summed and accessed if you subject yourself enough. They live in other realms, some of them good, some of them bad. They have unworldly magical powers and abilities that differentiate with the species. That of which is another incensing task that Axel has to find out. What type of Elf could Roxas be?

Axel pulls another book towards him and grins. It is as if someone has read his mind. It is a large green volume entitled _The Game of Thrones_ in tarnished gold letters. Axel look to Vanitas, who has now switched books but doesn't look up. At least he's actually taking the time to research instead of pretending to please Axel. But . . .

Axel doesn't remember selecting this from the shelves. It reeks, almost like soil, and Axel's nose crinkles a he turns the pages. He scans for any signs of the Elven kind, or any mention of a certain species with a particular set of skills, but he soon finds something far more interesting.

An illustration of a twisted, half-decayed face grins at him, flesh falling from its bones. The air chills, and Axel rubs his arms. Where had he found this? How had this escaped the burnings? How had any of these books escaped the purging fires ten years ago?

Axel shivers again, almost twitching. The hollow, mad eyes of the monster are full of malice. It seems to look at him. Axel closes the book and pushes it to the end of the table. If anyone knew this kind of book still exists in the library, it could attract attention of all kinds. Unlike the Great Library of Sunset Hill, here there are no Master Scholars to protect the invaluable books. Vanitas keeps readying, his pen flickering in the light of the oil lamps as he scans through the documents and scribbles notes.

As Axel now carelessly opens another book, expecting to find nothing, he flips open to the middle section where a deep purple ribbon was laid as a marker. His eyes skip around until they find the word 'Elf', and they bring him to a paragraph at the middle of the page. His heart skips a beat. In the last sentence of the paragraph, the words: 'assassin and Elf' are in the same sentence. His eyes flick to the beginning of the paragraph.

"_Wood Elves are the elven people of Zeltenia. They prefer a simple existence, living in harmony with the land and wild animals. They are known to be the best archers in all of Ivalice, and are known for their ability to command wild creatures. They make great scouts or thieves, due to their natural stealth and light footing._

_Wood Elves are often described as stealthy archers, choosing lighter armor and favoring more risky lines of work due to their innate skills and abilities. Their resistances to both poison and disease make them the most viable candidate for warriors among the Elven and Fae kind, as they can resist various amounts of torture due to lethal injections and have incredible healing abilities that begin moments after injured. These resistances, along with their power to command animals of nature, make Wood Elves an excellent choice for a scout, thief, assassin or treasure hunter type character_."

Something groans, and Axel's head swings towards the back of the library. It is a guttural noise, an animalistic noise –

"Did you hear anything?" he asks.

"Stop imagining things." Is Vanitas' only reply.

"I'm not." Axel pulls the green book back to him, leafing past the terrifying portrait of the dead thing, and draws the candle closer to read the description of various monsters.

There is another scraping noise somewhere beneath his feet – close, as if someone is running a fingernail along the ceiling below. Axel slams the book shut and steps away from the table. The hair on his arms rise, and he almost stumbles into the nearest table as he waits for something – a hand; a wing; a gaping, fanged mouth – to appear and grab him.

"Do you feel that?" he asks Vanitas, who slowly, maliciously grins. He holds out his dagger and drags it on the marble floor, creating the exact sound and feeling.

Axel snarls, erupting a laugh from Vanitas even as Axel smacks the back of the boy's head. "You damned idiot." Axel snarls. He grabs two heavy books from the table and stalks from the library, making sure to leave _The_ _Game of Thrones_ far behind.

A half hour of walking through the halls and down flights of stairs, Axel stands in front of the door.

The once-handsome man is curled against the wall, his clothes soiled and his golden hair matted and phased. He has buried his face in his arms, but Axel can still see that his skin gleams with sweat and has a slightly greyish hue. And the smell . . .

He hasn't seen him since yesterday; since he had stumbled into the secluded section of the dungeons where he heard the seemingly unpleasant conversation with his former wife. Axel had much to wonder if he had felt the castle shake, or heard the vile roar of creature and from his own son. Would he have known what that was? Or did is scare him at the thought of something more sinister in the castle?

He's still unaware of how long he's been in the castle, but it would seem they don't know what to do with him – or don't care.

"Hello, Cloud." Axel says quietly.

Cloud lifts his head, his black eyes gleaming in recognition. "Hello, Axel."


	34. Chapter 33

Axel takes a step closer to the bars. A bucket for relieving himself, a bucket of water, the crumbs of his last meal, and moldy hay that forms a rough pallet; that is all Cloud had been given.

_All he deserves_.

"Come to laugh?" Cloud says. His voice, which had once been rich and cultured, is little more than a hoarse whisper. It is freezing down here – it is a wonder Cloud hadn't fallen ill already. "I'm surprised you found your way down here. Tifa assured me this place was inaccessible."

"Yeah well you know me, I tend to get around."

"Not just with places, apparently."

Axel presses his lips to a thin line. "I have questions for you." Axel says, keeping his words soft. Though they are both down deep in the recesses of the dungeons, he still worries about members eavesdropping.

"I'm busy today." Cloud smiles, leaning his head against the stone wall. "Come back tomorrow." He looks so much younger with his hair drooping. He couldn't be much older than Axel himself.

Axel drops into a crouch, one hand braced against the bars for balance. The metal is bitingly cold. "What do you know about your heritage?"

Cloud looks towards the stone ceiling. "Almost as much as everyone else in their own family."

"Don't play games. I don't have the time, or the patience."

Cloud's night-dark eyes meet Axel's. There is a hint of madness there – but also wariness and exhaustion. "Why ask me about it?"

"Because I need to know."

Cloud wheezes a laugh. "Fair enough. I had that one coming. But it'll take more than pity threats to get me to talk."

"So you at least know something."

Cloud smirks. "I do."

Axel doesn't return the smirk. "Then tell me. It concerns the safety of your son."

Axel can see Cloud stiffen. "_What_?" he whispers, shifting enough so that Axel can see the bruises trailing along his jaw. They look unnervingly enough like handprints. "Does he know I'm here?" his words are desperate.

Axel says nothing. There's blood-scabbed over scars circling his wrists, small puss-dried welts and burn marks on his neck. Cloud tucks his arms into the fold of his cape. "There's no one down here to hear me scream."

Axel bites the inside of his lip. "I'm sorry." He says, and means it.

Cloud rests his good cheek on his knee. "Not like I don't deserve it. I know the sins I've committed can only be paid with blood." his voice has taken on a faraway quality that Axel recognizes too well from his time as a slave trader. Once the memories and the pain and the fear takes over, there will be no chance of talking to Cloud.

Axel asks quietly. "I know you care about your son, despite your . . . extreme measures. But you are a smart man, so what is the history of your family, both yours and Tifa's?" a dangerous question, but if anyone might tell him, it will be Cloud.

But the man is staring at nothing and doesn't reply.

Axel stands. "Good luck."

Cloud just shivers, tucking his hands under his arms.

Axel should let Cloud freeze to death for what he's tried to do to Roxas. He should walk out of the dungeons smiling, because for _once_ the right person is locked away.

"What exactly is so fatal to my boy, that you would risk coming down here?" Cloud murmurs, more to himself than Axel. "I could easily trick you, tell you all sorts of lies I can make up on the spot, and you would believe them."

Axel keeps his face blank. The way his voice is toned, it sounds like he it raking through all of his mind to try and connect the sparks to what Axel is trying to say. But this kind of man, in this line of business, it's always good to be honest but don't tell them something they don't need to know. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it for you. You're a smart man."

He catches the slightest movement in Cloud's eyes as they flick to him.

Axel swallows. "Roxas is Elven. I've seen it with my own eyes." He sees Cloud's eyes widen. "I need to know how he had gotten a trace of it in his genes."

But Cloud has already curled into himself again; whether as if to avoid the words or to conserve as much warmth as he can. Axel didn't want to think about how frigid the cell must be at night; he knew what it felt like to curl up like that, desperate for any kernel of warmth, wondering whether you'd make wake up in the morning, or if the cold will claim you before then.

Not giving himself the time to reconsider, Axel unfastens his black cloak. He throws it through the bars, aiming carefully to avoid the long-dried vomit that is caked onto the stones. He's also heard rumors about the man's opium addiction – being locked away without a fix has to drive him close to insanity, if he wasn't mad to begin with.

Cloud stares at the cloak that lands in his lap, and Axel pivots to return down the narrow, icy corridor and up to the warmer levels above.

"I always knew this would be a possibility." Cloud says softly, and Axel pauses. "I guess I just didn't want to believe it."

Axel merely turns in Cloud's direction, quiet.

Cloud takes a long breath. "It was his great-grandmother, who was Elven. On my side." He says.

That is it . . .

"And even though he did not receive the same magical gene as he great-grandmother, I knew it could show up in future generations."

"Do you possess the same abilities?"

"From the way you talk, it sounds as if he has more to offer. And no, I have no trace of it in my genetic factor. And even though his first grandmother couldn't switch into an animal form the way the Elves can, Roxas somehow inherited the ability to shift. Between his Elven form and his human form."

"And he can't shift anymore?"

"Not since he was a little boy. Back then, he would merely pretend he was an animal with the ears and the teeth, but I then forbid him from shifting once he hit his teen years. I knew of the danger he would be in. Sometimes as a child, when he was scared or upset or had tantrums, he couldn't control the shift. I considered having him learn how to master it, but he would have given himself away at some point."

"Most of the Guild Members said they've been around since Roxas was a child, do they know of his heritage?"

"Only the three masters I knew I could trust: Leon, Terra and Cid. Everyone else I knew would have turned on him. Only Lexaeus knew, but I doubt he can recall the last time he saw the boy's form."

Axel's can feel his ribs crack and collapse onto his heart. He draws a shaky breath. "Do they know now?"

"Probably so, but no doubt the memories have faded long since he's grown. I made sure that they didn't really . . . remember."

"So you turned him into a killer." Axel breathes.

"I give you credit for not saying monster."

"I can never see that boy as a monster." It was a half-truth.

There is a pause. "If I may ask," Cloud then speaks, still keeping still. "How is it you came to find out about my boy's birthright?"

Axel swallows. "We opened a portal; to another world. He wanted to see Ventus. Remember? The boy you had _him_ kill?" Axel coldly spites. "And there was much trouble."

"So you caused the castle to shake. I had a feeling." Cloud turns to Axel, seeing the haunted gleam in the red-head's eyes.

"In that world, magic, or something like it, still exists. And it is just as awful and overwhelming." Axel folds his arms and leans against the bars feeling . . . not safe, but . . . cumbersome. "He had no control over it – over the shift, or the magic, or himself. He was as likely to hurt me as he was to hurt that creature."

"_That creature_", as if Cloud had already know what it had looked like and what it had done. "So was he the one to open the portal?"

"No, it was Zexion. And he closed the portal as well. He did use Roxas' blood to open the portal, though." Axel then explained about the creature and how Roxas had defeated it, and how he doesn't remember anything, and how Axel had spent the last hours trying to comb through the archives to try and find something about the Elves or how they connect more towards Cloud's bloodline. Though he leaves out the death of Lexaeus, and the fallout he and Roxas had.

When he finishes, Cloud simply asks: "Do you plan on telling him?"

"I hope to. But I need valid proof."

"And what do you suppose that will accomplish?"

Axel bites his lip. Truthfully, he didn't think that far ahead. All he cared about was finding out about the Elves and what kind Roxas is, and how it connects to his family tree. There _was_ a reason there, Axel knew it! He just needed to find it, and finding out all of the information he can is part of the process. But how would Roxas react to finding out? More importantly, what will it accomplish? What did Axel expect?

He thinks back to Vanitas' words in the library: _What are you going to do? Ship him off somewhere where he can live out with the rest of his kind_?

But of course he wouldn't tell Cloud that.

"I just know this is the right thing to do. He does have the right to know, or to remember, rather."

"Hmph. I would say you're insane, except it all sounds too much like my son to cause destruction. If anyone knew – about what he is," Cloud says wearily. "you understand that he will be executed."

Axel's eyes flash. "I'm not going to tell anyone. I swear it." Cloud shifts ever so slightly. "Why do you stay here? I figured someone of your talents would've broken out of here long ago."

Cloud is silent and still, so much Axel wonders if he is asleep or dead until he lips move. "I wanted to see Roxas. Though I should've known she would've dragged me down here where he can never see me."

"Why don't you just escape? See him for yourself?" Axel repeats.

"Because . . . I want him to know I've given up."

Something inside Axel's chest cracks.

"I don't care about making him a weapon anymore, I don't care about making him my heir anymore. I don't even care if he disowns me as his father, I just want to see him. To _save_ him." Cloud's lip trembles as much as his words.

"From what?" Axel asks, keeping the fact he overheard their conversation in the tunnels a secret.

"From _Her_." Cloud growls. "If you think I'm bad, you don't know what she is capable of, or _incapable_ of feeling."

"Is that why she fled?"

Cloud coldly laughs. "She did not flee. I banished her from the Guild. She was crazy. _Obsessed_."

"With what?" though a part of Axel seems to already know the answer.

"I was hoping you would've taken care of her that night you stumbled out of that bar." Cloud babbles ignoring Axel's question.

Axel fists his hands. "Funny how you used that story to get Roxas to hate me."

Silence. "For my part, I am sorry. I was not thinking. And I am no longer that man."

Axel bites the inside of his lip, and he takes a deep breath. "Cloud, also, Lexaeus is dead."

Silence, so thick and suffocating Axel wants to flee. But his feet are rooted in place.

"_What_?"

"Lexaeus is, dead. There was a festival, and Roxas and his mother were out for a ride. Somehow, Lexaeus had been captured and tortured."

"Those _bastards_." Cloud spits.

"And Roxas," Axel folds his lips. "Roxas massacred everyone at the festival. The royals, the men, the women . . . and even the children."

"So I overheard by the guards. I didn't think it was true."

"You're surprised?" says Axel. He casts his gaze to the ground. "Roxas says he doesn't remember anything, but . . . I don't know if I can believe him."

"Believe it or not, we assassins still have morals, _pirate_."

"Well you've done little to prove me wrong." Axel immediately counters.

"But I still know the difference between innocents and the guilty. I would never send him out to end those who have barely had a chance to live their life. Out of all the years that Roxas was under my tutelage, I have never had him kill a child under the age of fourteen – the age of a man in Twilight Town."

Axel nearly flees when he sees the fear that leaks its way into Cloud's eyes. "She knows." He mumbles. When Axel doesn't say anything, he continues. "When they come down here, they never tell me what they want. I don't even remember. It's all just . . . fragments. Shards of a broken mirror, each gleaming with its own individual image."

He is mad. Axel clamps down the urge to make a cutting remark, the memory of Cloud's bruises and injuries stating his tongue. He silently pivots on his heels.

"There are books in the safe house I have here in the city." Cloud says, stopping Axel once again. "It's a vast mansion out in the third district. It'll have black gates with a golden emblem of a wyvern. You can explore the library there. I know there are sectioned off, somewhere."

"Thank you for your help. And I'm sorry for your loss."

Cloud wraps Axel's cloak around himself. "Save him. Don't let her catch him. She can't control him. _Nobody_ can control _him_. Nobody."

A shiver runs up Axel's spine as he swears he hears the words echo in the hallway, but they're not Cloud's. They're insane. Hollowed out by misery.

_You can't control him. Nobody. Nobody. Nobody_!

Axel holds his head and grunts as the word feels like they're bouncing around in his skull, a high-pitched ringing deafening his ears. Over the murmur he can hear Cloud hiss. The whistling dies down, and Axel shakes his head.

"Something is coming," Cloud whispers. "And you are to greet it."

Axel loosens the breath he hadn't realized he has been holding. The conversation is pointless. "Good-bye Cloud."

The man only laughs softly, and the sound follows Axel long after he's left the freezing dungeons behind.

* * *

"You're not _focusing_."

"Yes, I am!" Roxas says through his teeth, pulling the bowstring back even further.

"Then go ahead." Maleek says, pointing to a distant target along the far wall of the abandoned hallway. An outrageous distance for anyone – except for Roxas. "Let's see you make that."

Roxas rolls his eyes and straightened his spine a bit. The bowstring quivers in his hand, and he lifts the tip of his arrow slightly.

"You're going to hit the left wall." Maleek says, crossing his arms.

"I'm going to hit you in the head if you don't shut up." Roxas turns his head to meet Maleek's gaze. The Faceless' brows rise, and, still staring at him, Roxas smiles wickedly as he blindly fires the arrow.

The whiz of the arrow's flight fills the stone hallway before the faint, dull thud of impact. But they remain gazing at each other. Maleek's eyes have such a light to them that Roxas vaguely recognizes. Did his eyes once look like that before he became a hollow shell of the boy he once was?

Roxas sighs and rolls his shoulders. "So, what've you been up to? Anyone tell you what happened that shook the castle?" he says quietly, lowering his bow.

His face remains blank. "Everyone know what caused it. Your friend opened a portal that contained things he wasn't supposed to see."

"It wasn't entirely –"

"Don't try to take the blame. You might've been the influence behind it, but you weren't the one who actually opened it. Even if he did use your blood to do it."

"Are they going to punish him?"

Maleek keeps their stare when Roxas turns his head. "I don't know." And he meant it. Roxas has never seen him so serious. It makes something within him strain. "But apparently there's more to the story than you and your friends seem to be telling me."

"Because I'm afraid you'll go running to your Mistress about it."

Maleek puts a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Don't insult me, Roxas. I can keep secrets here, even from the Mistress."

Roxas half-smiles. "What is it with her being so secretive anyway?"

"She didn't tell you?" Maleek asks, surprised.

"Tell me what?" Roxas loads another arrow and takes a deep breath. Maleek doesn't say anything and Roxas can only assume it's because he's waiting for Roxas to shoot. Exhaling carefully, Roxas aims his eyes on the black dot at the target and releases the string. The arrow flies through the air and he waits until he hears the sound of impact before turning to Maleek.

"Your mother is worried of a trader amongst the Faceless."

"She thinks someone is a spy?" Maleek nods. "I would say she's paranoid, but I suppose it comes with the job. This only started recently. And I don't think I need to tell you that she's cautious around your men."

"As expected."

Roxas loads another arrow and pulls back the bow. As he narrows his focus, he is about to say something when Maleek beats him to it. "Are you okay? You seem distant lately."

On react, Roxas' fingers release the string but his grip is shaky and the arrow wobbles. He doesn't even look to find out where it lands. "Um," Roxas licks his lips. "I don't wish to talk about it."

"Or at least out here?" Roxas looks to Maleek and is immediately drawn to his eyes. They are a soft shade and Roxas could swear he sees a spark of light spin around the pupil. He merely nods, entranced by the eyes. That and a sudden pang of unbearable loneliness compresses Roxas chest until he can't breathe. So he nods his head and Maleek gives a soft smile as he hoists the bow around his back and Roxas' as well before taking the assassin's hand.

As they depart, Roxas looks back at the target.

Maleek had been right. He'd missed the center by the center by six inches – to the left.

Roxas lets Maleek lead the way to his bedroom chambers, Roxas can't help but memorize the feeling of Maleek's grip. It's soft, but not like his hand is slipping; but hard enough to grip that Roxas feels . . . protected.

They've since returned their weapons to the training room and Roxas has not let go of Maleek's hand. Let the other members think what they want. Just having his hand grip his own, it somehow seems to ground Roxas from wherever he seems to go off. He's been feeling very disconnected lately since his and Axel's fight. He still can't bring himself to say breakup. Not just because he's in denial, but because it didn't sound like Axel wanted end things, just wanted to create distance. Right?

They make it back inside of Roxas' chambers and he shuts the bedroom door behind him. Roxas ruffles his brown hair, the smell of dye is still fresh as his mother had her servants add more color to it. He takes the lead as Maleek rolls up the sleeves of his tunic. He wordlessly follows Roxas into the gaming room.

What are they supposed to do?

"Billiards?" Roxas suggests as he points to the table.

"Sure." Maleek answers accompanied by a shrug of his shoulders.

Roxas takes a cue stick and a small blue cube. Maleek gathers all of the ball stocked away in the corners of the table and set them in the triangular holder. They play a few practice rounds, and it doesn't take long for Maleek to realize that Roxas might not be great at _everything_ he does.

Brows narrows, Roxas aims the cue at the white ball. The pole slides easily between his fingers as he steadies his hand on the felt surface of the table. With an awkward lurch of his arm, he jabs the rod forward. He misses completely.

Cursing, Roxas tries again. He hits the cue ball in such a way that it gives a pathetic half roll to the side, gently knocking into a colored ball with a faint click. Well, at least he'd hit something. It is more successful than his relationship status had been.

It is past four in the evening, and, in need of a break from hours of training and sleeping away in bed and fretting about Axel, he's more than pleased to have Maleek's company, even if he snickers loudly at Roxas' struggle. Roxas was too tried for music, he can't play cards alone, and – well, billiards seem to be the only plausible activity. He had picked up the cue with high hopes that the game wouldn't be too difficult to learn.

The assassin pivots around the table and takes aim again. He misses. Gritting his teeth, he considers snapping the cue stick in half across his knees. But they've been attempting to play for only an hour. He'd be incredible by midnight! He's master this ridiculous game or he'd turn the table into firewood. And use it to burn Maleek alive if he dares laugh again.

Roxas jabs the cue, and hits the ball with such force that it zooms towards the back wall of the table, knocking three colored balls out of its way before it collides with the number three ball, sending it shooting straight for a hole.

It stops rolling at the edge of the pocket.

A shriek of rage rips from his throat and Roxas runs over to the pocket. He first screams at the hall, then takes the cue in his hands and bites down upon the shaft, still screaming through his clamped teeth. Finally, the assassin stops and slaps the three ball into the pocket.

"For the world's greatest assassin, this is pathetic." says Maleek, leaning on his cue.

Roxas shoots him a glare as Maleek walks his way around the table. He leans against the table, smiling as Roxas still turns a deep shade of red. "If you're just going to insult me, you can shove this –" Roxas lifts the cue in the air and makes an obscene gesture that finishes his sentence.

Maleek rolls his eyes before picking up the cue and spinning it in his hand. "Are you planning on biting the cue again? Because if you are, I'd like to invite the court painter so I can forever remember the sight."

"Don't you dare mock me!"

"Don't be so serious." Maleek aims at the ball and sends it gracefully into a green one, which drops into a pocket. "You're immensely entertaining when you're hopping mad."

To his surprise and delight, Roxas laughs. "Funny to you." He says, "infuriating to me." Roxas moves and takes another shot. And misses.

"Let me show you how to do it." he strode over to where Roxas stands and sets his tick down, taking Roxas' in his hand. Nudging Roxas out of the way, his heart beating a bit faster, he positions himself where Roxas stood. "You see how my thumb and index finger are always holding the supper end of the cue? All you have to do is –"

Roxas knocks him out of the way with a swish of his hips and takes the rod from him. "I know how to hold it you buffoon." Roxas tries to hit the hall and misses yet again.

"You're not moving your body the correct way. Here, just let me show you."

Though it is the oldest and most shameless trick in the book, Maleek reaches over Roxas and puts his hand on top of the one that grips the cue. Maleek then positions the fingers of Roxas' other hand on the wood before lightly gripping Roxas' wrist.

Maleek's eyes shift to Roxas, and to his relief and satisfaction, he finds that Roxas is as red as a tomato, if not more.

"If you don't stop feeling and start instructing, I'm going to rip out your eyes and replace them with these billiard balls.

"Look, all you have to do is . . ." He walks Roxas through the steps, and he hits the ball smoothly. It goes into a corner and rebounds into a pocket. Maleek removes himself from Roxas and smirks. "See? If you do it properly, it'll work. Try again." He picks up his cue. Roxas snorts, but still positions himself, aims, and hits it. The cue ball shoots all around the table, creating general chaos. But at least he made contact.

Maleek grabs the triangle and holds it in the air. "Now can we play for real?"

The clock chimes nine before they stop. Maleek had ordered an array of desserts to be brought in the midst of their playing, and though Roxas protested, he gobbled down a large piece of chocolate cake and then ate half of his piece, too.

He had won every game, yet Roxas hardly noticed. As long as he hit the ball, it resulted in shameless bragging. When Roxas missed – well, even the fires of Hell couldn't compare to the rage that burst from the brunette's mouth. Maleek can't remember a time when he had laughed so hard.

When Roxas wasn't cursing or sputtering, they spoke of the books they'd both read, and as he jabbered on and on, Maleek feels as if he hadn't spoken word in years and is afraid Roxas would suddenly go mute again. He is frighteningly smart. Roxas understood Maleek when he spoke of history, or of politics – though Roxas claimed to loathe the subject – and promising to take Roxas to a play someday. An awkward silence arose at that, but it quickly passed.

Maleek is now slumped on a couch, resting his head on a hand. Roxas lies sprawled next to him, his head resting on Maleek's shoulder, legs stretched and feet resting on the coffee table. Roxas stares at the fire, his eyelids half-closed. "What are you thinking about?" Maleek asks.

"I don't know." Roxas says. He lets his hand drop onto Maleek's, resting on his thigh.

"Will you play the pianoforte for me?"

"Of course not."

"You play beautifully. At least according to Demyx."

"If I had known someone was spying on me, I wouldn't have played at all."

"Why is playing for you so personal?" Maleek angles his head up to look at the ceiling.

"I can't hear or play music without - Never mind."

"No, tell me what you were going to say."

"Nothing interesting." Roxas says.

"Does it stir up memories?"

Roxas eyes him, searching for signs of mockery. "Sometimes."

"Memories of your childhood?"

"Don't ask such stupid questions." Roxas snaps.

"I'm sorry if I pried."

Roxas doesn't respond. The door in his mind that he keeps locked at all times has been cracked open by the question, and now Roxas tried frantically to close it. Seeing his face, seeing him this near to him . . . The door shuts and he turns the key.

"It's just," Maleek says, oblivious to the battle that had just occurred. "It's just that I don't know anything about you."

"I'm an assassin." Roxas' heartbeat calms. "That's all there is to know."

"Yes," Maleek says with a sigh. "But why is it so wrong for me to want to know more? Like how you became an assassin - and what things were like for you before that."

"It's not interesting."

"I wouldn't find it boring." Roxas doesn't say anything. "Please? One question and I promise, nothing too sensitive."

Roxas' mouth twists to the side and he looks at the table. What harm was there in one question? He could choose not to reply. "Very well"

Maleek grins. "I need a moment to think of a good one." Roxas rolls his eyes, but relaxes more into Maleek's shoulder. After a few seconds, he asks, "Why do you like music so much?"

Roxas makes a face as he looks up to Maleek. "You said nothing too sensitive!"

"Is it _that_ prying? How different is that from asking why you like to read?"

"No, no. That question is fine." Roxas lets out a long breath through his nose and stares at the table. "I like music," he starts slowly. "because when I hear it, I . . . I lose myself, if that makes sense. I become empty and and full all at once, and I can feel the whole earth roiling around me. When I play, I'm not . . . for once, I'm not destroying. I'm creating." Roxas chews in his lip. "I used to want to be a healer. Back when I was . . . Back before this became my profession, when I was almost too young to remember, I wanted to be a healer." Roxas shrugs. "Music reminds me of that feeling." Roxas laughs under his breath. "I never told anyone that; not even Axel." Roxas admits, then sees Maleek's smile. "Don't mock me."

Maleek shakes his head, wiping the smile from his lips. "I'm not mocking you - I'm just . . ."

"Unused to hearing people speak from their heart?"

"Well, yes."

Roxas smiles slightly. "Now it's my turn. Are there any limitations?"

"No." Maleek shifts slightly to prop one foot up on the table. "I'm not nearly as private as you. And I can brutally honest."

"That's what I'm hoping for." Roxas makes a face as he thinks of the question. "Are you mad at me, about the festival?"

He feels a lump hop into his throat, which he quickly swallows as the gold in Roxas' eyes glitter in the flame light. He and the rest of the Faceless members were told at a meeting with the Mistress; how Roxas had massacred an entirety of five hundred people at the Festival as debt for the death of his fellow Guild Member Lexaeus. When he last saw Roxas leave, his heart nearly dropped.

The boy had such emptiness in his eyes, and he was hurrying his steps, the dog Artemis hot on his heels. Maleek wished to know more about Roxas' past. Their Mistress had only told them he came from Twilight Town, and that his father is the head of a Thief and Assassin Guild. Maleek hadn't the faintest clue what his life was like, when he became an assassin, how he learned to play the pianoforte . . . it is all a mystery.

Maleek wants to know everything about him. He wished Roxas would just tell him. "I can't say I'd be mad if I would've done the same thing." Maleek answers.

"But you wouldn't have done the same thing." Roxas protests.

"And how do you know?" Maleek can feel the assassin stiffen.

"Because. . . because you would've had control." Roxas mumbles. His voice shakes and Maleek feels the assassin burrow deeper into his arm.

"You make it sound as if you didn't have any control." says Maleek.

When Roxas looks up to Maleek, his heart sinks as he can see the hollowness in Roxas' eyes. That stark blue had dulled, like steel when rusted. And it's as if someone had snuffed the life out of him.

His lip trembled when he speaks. "I don't think I did."

Maleek angles himself better to see the assassin and unknowingly starts to stroke the brunette's hair. "What do you mean?" He asks.

Roxas takes a shaky breath. He shifts slightly so he's sitting more upright. "I don't remember much, but I remember enough." Maleek doesn't say anything as Roxas gathers his strength. "I can only see it in flashes. Pictures of the scene, and. . . I can't think any further than that." His eyes full with tears, and his lip quivers. "I remember the smell of blood. And I can still hear the screams." His voice gives out near the end. "And I still see the little body on the grass . . .!" He makes a sawing motion with his hand. "The . . . the head, it was-!"

When Roxas starts to make these horrid choking noises, Maleek wraps his arms around the boy further and pulls him close. He strokes the boy's head and lets him have the moment.

"I don't know what had happened." Roxas whimpers. "I just remember feeling so, angry. And then, I was covered in blood, storming for the castle. I was soaked with sweat from trying to keep my anger at bay." Maleek stays silent. "And . . . There was something there; in my head."

"Do you remember what it was?" Maleek asks, his tone calm.

"It was a, creature." Roxas says through a choke. "It's humanoid. It has long arms, the knuckles brushing the floor, and claws that curl upwards. It has haunches, long, pointed ears and long, sharp fangs."

Maleek has to step through his tutorial on calming breaths because if his heart increases speed, with Roxas this close, hell sense the fear. And what he just told would send Maleek's heart to jackrabbit speed.

"I don't know what it is." Roxas' voice is hitches. "And that's all I saw when I was down there. Like I was watching myself tear everyone down and I couldn't control it. But I knew it was me. And I couldn't do _anything_!"

Maleek pets the boys head, uncaring about the tears that drop onto the chest of his tunic, or how Roxas' hand is clutching the shirt with a vise-like grip. He merely focuses on petting the assassin's head as he watches the exterior and interior of what makes this boy, completely collapse like a house of cards.

Finally, once Roxas is calm enough to wipe his eyes and nose, Maleek leans them both forward, having them sit up straight as Roxas takes a tissue. He blows his nose sloppily and gets up to disperse the tissue. Maleek stays on the couch as he watches the assassin disappear into the bathroom. He hears the sound of running water and splashing. Then Roxas walks back out wiping his face with a washcloth. The hair near the front of his face is damp with water. His cheeks and nose are still slightly red, and it is then that Maleek can see the small purple rings under the boy's eyes, indicating little sleep.

When Roxas sits back down on the couch, sighing, he swallows before gathering his remaining dignity to look at Maleek. "I, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For your shirt, and for embarrassing myself. Gods," Roxas coldly chuckles under his breath. "I'm such a buffoon. You would think I was raised better."

"But you weren't." Roxas still sniffs as he itches one eye. "Roxas it's fine. I don't think any little of you for merely expressing your feelings. Truthfully I find this a much healthier way than killing off rivals." Maleek makes sure to avoid the term "innocents" simply for the Roxas' sake.

Roxas looks up to Maleek as the Faceless sidles closer to him, and Roxas' fingers brush his. Roxas feels restless - but at the same time remarkably still. Something is brought to life and laid to sleep in Maleek's gaze. "Your eyes are very strange." Maleek says with a smile. "I've never seen any with such a bright ring of gold."

"You should see them when they were lively." Roxas swallows.

"They still are." Maleek lies. That emptiness and hollow expression seems to be the only thing he sees lately. Even from when they had first met, that smile he had at the sunlight; the joy he had as they traveled. It seems like that boy was simply a figment of his imagination. He thought he had once saw it again, when he was with Axel . . .

The way the collar of his tunic lays across Maleek's neck makes Roxas unable to sit still. He wants to touch Maleek, to trace the line between his tan skin and the golden lining of the fabric. He very much wants to sit close to him like this everyday and to have his skin under Maleek's breath. He liked that. Worse than that, Roxas realizes, he liked _him_.

Plus, _Maleek_ was the one who had even bothered to speak to Roxas since the festival. Everyone else had all been too afraid. Afraid of him still after all they've been through. Though he can't really blame then after the way he had stormed through the castle, still, they should know Roxas by now. Shouldn't they? He's been open enough. Right?

"Roxas," he hears Maleek say. It is then Roxas realizes he's been staring at Maleek's lips. They're both perfectly even on the upper and bottom lip. And they look soft.

Maybe there can be no future, no hope of anything more, but just looking at Maleek sitting here, in this moment, Roxas wants to be selfish and stupid and wild.

Axel, Vanitas, his father, The Faceless, they can all go to Hell.

"You're trembling." Maleek says. Roxas was. Like a damned idiot, he is trembling. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Roxas says, though his voice is little more than a whisper.

As Maleek begins another sentence, Roxas surges forward, grabbing the lapels of his tunic and kisses him.

He almost knocks Maleek to the floor. But The Faceless member shoots out an arm to the arm if the couch and braces himself as his spare arm wraps around Roxas' middle. Roxas lets the touch, the taste of him fill the room of his mind with water. Gods, to feel such softness against his lips. A blaze of heat vastly travels around his body as he feels Maleek's arm flex, lifting them both for a moment so he can adjust their positions. Maleek has one leg against the couch, the other on the floor and Roxas lies atop his muscled chest.

He kisses Maleek, who doesn't protest, and hopes to steal some of the Faceless's air. Roxas' fingers entangle themselves in Maleek's hair, and as he kisses Roxas fiercely, he lets everything fade away.

* * *

The clock chimes three as Roxas lies on his bed with Maleek. After hours of kissing and talking and more kissing on his bed, Roxas is afraid to let him leave. But alas, he feels Maleek's lips press into his hair and murmur: "I should go." Even as he says it, he intertwines their fingers, Roxas marveling at the smoothness of Maleek's tan skin against the calluses of his.

Roxas groans, but smiles into Maleek's chest and inhales his scent. They didn't take anything further than the kissing, though Roxas could sense Maleek wanted to. Perhaps he did too, but the thought of someone else other than Axel touching his exposed skin rather frightened him. Not that Maleek pushed anything further. In fact, Maleek was rather hurt as even when he and Roxas talked and kissed, that hollowness in his eyes only ebbed it didn't vanish. He could never replace Axel and he wasn't trying to.

Still, Maleek kisses the assassin's hair, and then again, soft and lingering, and Roxas' body melts into his. He adores the smoothness of Maleek's skin as he runs a hand down his arm. Maleek pulls back. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Roxas groans again, stretching it out longer as Maleek shimmies out of his embrace and onto the cold floor. Artemis long since trotting away and slipping under the bed. Roxas turns on his side and watches the muscles in Maleek's back as he stretches.

_Gods_ he was _sexy_. Perhaps it would be better to have Maleek than to have Axel. Maleek had looks, skill, and a personality that greatly molds with his own. And yet Roxas can't brim himself to think of departing from Axel. And if Roxas couldn't even bear the thought of having someone else on top of him, someone other than Axel . . .

"Tell you what," Maleek's voice speaks and Roxas pops his head up him. "As a favor, I'll cancel our training tomorrow."

Before Roxas can say anything, Maleek simply smiles, and then he is gone.

Once the room is still after his departure, Roxas simply flops to his back. He hasn't been sleeping well since the incident with the portal. But even when he managed to sleep, his dreams are haunted by ancient battles, by swords with eyes, by ancient markings that swirl around his head and blinded him with their bright colors. Roxas can see gleaming armor of Elf and mortal warriors, hears the clash of shields and the snarl of various beasts, and smell the blood and rotting corpses all around him. Carnage trails within his wake. Roxas shudders and tries to accustom to the coldness of the sheets.

As me makes his way around the hallways of the castle, he stops short of his own chambers when he finds Axel's room glowing with right light. Upon instinct, Maleek silently creeps towards the door and peers inside. The pirate captain is seated at his dining table, all draperies of his window drawn, a large fire crackling in the fireplace. He flips through a book.

_Nothing, nothing, nothing_. Axel scans the page for any sign of the Wood Elven kind. They were the closest thing that were descriptive to Roxas, and he had to find out further. But not much if the books in the library yielded much results. Axel had since wandered the city until he found the address to the safe house Cloud had told him about, and came to find the place abandoned, but a couple stacks of heavy tomes placed on the dining table. Perhaps Cloud did have connections around the town and really was living out his life in the dungeons for Roxas.

The silence of his chambers wraps around him like a blanket, interrupted only by the turning of pages as he reads through Roxas' family extensive genealogical charts, records, and histories. Roxas be the only one; if he is Elven, then what about others in his family? Cloud had already established that he didn't have the gene, and Tifa's declared obsession with the species denies her. But how could Roxas be the son of two mortal parents? It still doesn't add up if Cloud had the history, but none himself.

And then there's the matter of making sure no one had found out. Otherwise, he will be given a cruel death if anyone learned of what dwells in Roxas' blood. Beheading, dismemberment, them burning. Complete annihilation.

No wonder the Elves had fled the continent. They had been powerful and wise, but this continent, the Kingdom of Hearts, this continent that holds all of Twilight Town, and the Destiny Isles and Hollow Bastion and Traverse Town, they have military might and a frantic public looking for any solution to the famine and poverty that had plagued the kingdoms for decades. It hasn't just been the armies that had made the Elves run - no, it was also the people who had lived in an uneasy tribe with them, as well as the mortals gifted with magic, for generations. How would those people react if they knew that the world's most feared assassin is plagued by the same power?

It has been nearly five days since their fallout. He keeps telling himself that this is for the best and the better of his research. And while he didn't end things officially with Roxas, he still worried about the rest of the members around here, especially that Maleek member and how they might jump at the chance to take Roxas.

Axel returns his focus to the book in front of him. He runs a finger down Roxas' mother's family tree. It is dotted with Skyes along the way; a close mingling of their two families for the past few centuries that has given rise to numerous kings.

But Axel's been up and at this for hours after visiting Cloud, and none of the rotting old books hold any mention of Elven cross breeding. In fact, there had been a drought in the line for centuries. Several gifted people had married into the bloodline, but their children hadn't been born with the power, no matter what manner of gifts their parents possessed. Was it coincidence, or divine will?

Axel closes the book and reaches out into the stacks. He had pulled all of the genealogical records and managed to somehow carry them all back to his rooms. Though it was easier when he had found half of the stacks already on his dining table. Cloud's men are far better than he lets on. Axel pulls out the oldest book out of the stack - one that holds records dating back to the founding of Twilight Town itself.

There, on the top of the family tree, is Tobias Lockhart, the mortal prince who had taken his war band into the depths of the Limberry Mountains to challenge the Dark Lord Xehenort. The war had been long and brutal, and in the end, only a third of the men who had ridden in with Tobias came out of those mountains. But Tobias also emerged from that war with his bride - the princess Lilian, the half-Elven daughter of Malakai, Valendia's first king. It was Malakai himself who have Tobias the territory of Twilight Town as a wedding gift - and a reward for the prince and princess's sacrifices during the war. And since then, no Elven blood has bred into their line. Axel follows the tree down and down. Just long-forgotten families whose lands are now called by different names.

Axel sighs, sets down the book, and browses through the stack. If Lilian had gifted the line with her power, then perhaps answers can be found elsewhere . . .

He is is surprised to see the book there, given how it seemed to have nothing to do with the family's history. But here it is: the history of the Gainsborough line, starting with the Elven King Malakai himself. Axel flips through the pages, his brows rise high. Cloud has said that his side was blessed with magic, but _this _. . .

This is a powerhouse. A bloodline so mighty that other kingdoms had lived in terror of the day the Lords of Valendia would come to claim their lands.

But they never had.

While they'd been gifted, they'd never once pushed their borders - even when wars came to their doorstep. When foreign kings had threatened them, the retribution had been swift and brutal. But always, no matter what, they kept to their borders. Kept the peace.

As King Mickey should have after the fall of that empire.

Despite all their power, though, the Gainsborough family had fallen, and their noble lords with them. In the book he held, no one had bothered to make the houses the rival kink of Valendia, had exterminated, or the survivors sent into exile. Without the heart or the knowledge to so it himself, Axel closes the book, grimacing as all of those names burned in his vision what short of throne would the son or daughter of the King of Valenia inherit someday?

Words have spread about how King Sephiroth had no heir, despite their attempts, even considering to adopt children in an orphanage. But the law states that the heir must be it royal blood. And with the Queen already suffering three miscarriages, she fell into depression and refused any more attempts. So far, King Sephirioth is simply living his life on the throne of his kingdom until something arises. But what?

And should they ever be blessed with an heir, would he or she become friends with other kingdoms, allies even? A bride or groom, even?

Sighing, Axel replaces the book and stares at the stacks in front of him, as if it will yield any answers. But he already knows there is nothing here that can help him.

As he scans the pages, he as a map of Kingdom Hearts appears. Maps haw always interested him; there is something bewitching in knowing one's precise location in relation to to others on earth. Hence one of the reasons he set out to sail along the oceans. Exploring, discovering and expanding his map of other kingdoms and continents. How he missed the smell of the salt in his senses, winds blowing his hair in all directions. The crew mingling around their daily duties during the day and clinking glasses in the pub at night. When was the last time he set feet on the water? Months, years? It feels endless. And now here he was learning how to do backflips while shooting daggers and about how to detect poisons on foods and beverages. It seems like Roxas had changed him more than Axel has changed Roxas.

Axel gently traces a finger along the eastern coast. He begins in the south - at Agrabah, the kingdom of Hallows Eve, them goes up, curving and snaking, all the way up to Twilight Town. His finger then travels through Atlantica, then north and inland to the Destiny Isles, then back to the sea, to the Dominions Coast, and finally to the very top of the continent and the North Sea beyond.

He stares at Heartha, that city of light and learning, the pearl of the kingdom and capital of the Kingdom of Radiant Gardens. His birthplace.

"I was hoping you'd still be awake." Axel jumps from his seat, slamming the book shut.

He whirls around to find Maleek approaching. He looks tired and a bit ruffled. Axel tried to hide his snarl as the Faceless assassin approaches. What makes him uneasy is that Maleek never bothers to speak to him. Ever. So why now, unless he knows of what Axel is doing, and knowing what Roxas is. "What are you doing here? It's way past midnight and don't you have training at dawn tomorrow?"

"I see you've taken on Roxas' adoration for reading." Maleek surveys the books on the table. "_A Brief History of Modern Kingdom Hearts,_" He reads. "_Symbols and Power._ _Ivalice Culture and Customs_." Maleek raises an eyebrow.

"I read what I like." Axel says. "And again, I ask: Why are you here?"

Maleek standing off to his side is admittedly intimidating. The boy, not even should he called a boy, is pure muscle. His body built with years of training, his mind sharpened with tactics and strategies. He could probably even sense Axel's moves before he even executes them.

"I want to know what you did." Maleek bluntly answers.

Axel narrows his brows. "What?"

"To that boy." Roxas.

This time Axel doesn't hide his snarl. "None of your business."

With predatory smoothness, Maleek leans forward, setting his hands flat on the table and meeting Axel's glare. Axel resists the urge to lean back. "What did you do to Roxas?" He asks with a deathly calm voice. "What did you do to make him walk around with such emptiness in his eyes?" Towards the end of the sentence, Axel can see Maleek's features shift into sorrow and pity. Did he truly care for Roxas?

"Why do you care? It's our business and you're not his lover. "

"Well you're not exactly doing a better job, Axel." He growls. "What do you see when you look at him?"

Axel doesn't know. He doesn't know a damned thing anymore.

Maleek continues. "I don't know what happened between you two, but you need to stop acting like a pathetic, jealous child and notice what is wrong!"

"Oh and I suppose you know everything there is about him?!" Axel challenges, jumping from his seat. He and Maleek are two feet for each other and they match in height.

"No I don't. Not as well as you. And yet here you are hunched over books when your Lover is in there broken and tattered!" Axel just stares, his anger ebbing. "There is nothing left, Axel. There is nothing left if him; I can see it in his eyes. He had no hope, Axel, why can't you see that! He has no hope. He has none left in his heart. While you think you're helping him by giving him punishment, you're not! I see him slipping away, bit by bit because you shove him down when he so desperately needs someone to pick him up!"

"You don't think it pained me leave him?!"

"No I don't! You're sitting here when he needs you!"

"It's complicated, Maleek."

"Bullshit."

"It is. Look, you wanted an explanation about what happened the other night. And if you'll just listen and give me a chance to explain, I will explain to you everything."

Maleek's shoulders lower and while his face keeps a glare, he sighs and wipes his face. "Well it's about time."

Axel motions the Faceless to sit and he does. Axel still has he book he was reading and sets his hands on it and sighs. "And Roxas doesn't know any of this. And I need you to keep it that way until we've come to an agreement."

"We?"

"You, me and Vanitas. You're the only ones I trust with this."

"Very well." Maleek complies.

Axel nods and rummages through all of the books and opens them each to a page or section that he deemed useful. With each book, he spoke about what had happened the night they had opened a portal and how it had revealed Roxas' Elven trait. Then how while Axel was researching with Vanitas, how Roxas had come into the castle bloodied and animalistic how he thinks it connects to his Elven trait; only to be surprised when Maleek tells him if the creature that Roxas had envisioned while in his midst of attacking. And then it comes to a close to how Axel had met with Cloud down in the deeper dungeons if the castle and how he had explained of their heritage and explained if the books that Axel could use to further his research. By the end of it, Maleek had agreed to keep the secret as well as aid in the search for answers.

But before he departed for his chambers, at the early hour of five o'clock, he insisted Axel go to see Roxas in his chambers. With a nod and a thank you, Maleek had left. Axel followed five minutes after.

Meanwhile Roxas is half-asleep in his bed, snuggled into the sheets as snow falls gently outside, landing on everything with a butterfly-soft touch. His mind still sways with thoughts of Maleek and Axel. His body shivering despite the down comforter on top of him. Since Maleek had left, Roxas had tried everything to get back to sleep, but to no avail. But after a few hardcore exercises, he seemed dreary enough.

That is until a tingle ran up his spine and there was something pulsing even from behind his closed eyelids. Fluttering his eyes open, Roxas slowly eases himself up to a sitting position as his hand slides under his pillow for the serrated, sharpened dagger he keeps.

Immediately he sees the tentative blue light from across the room, all the way inside the room of his gaming chamber. Roxas watches it, thinking at first it's a trick of the night sky, the snow and the light of the moon, but as if to prove him wrong, the light glows brighter, and then slowly ebbs away as of breathing.

His blood goes cold as he hears whispers that follow the blue light, and yet his body is calm, warm even. The light glows blue, and ripples like when gazing up at the surface of water when underneath. It blinks twice before dying down the next time.

Gathering his courage, Roxas slips out of the bed and places his feet on the floor. Artemis, who was asleep next to him doesn't even flinch. Roxas takes the dagger and slips out a long rapier he had hidden underneath the bed. He still relieved that Artemis hadn't cut herself on it. But he holds them ready as he approaches with practiced stealth.

The light continues to radiate and Roxas is waiting for his body to give off earning signals: rapid heartbeat, goose skin on his arms and legs, the hairs on his neck to stand. But everything remains relaxed.

As he steps through the threshold of the game room, his eyes find the source of light and he drops his weapons.

The silver sword of Luchel. The sword he had received on his birthday from the temple service.

As he creeps closer, he finds that it's not the sword itself, but something within the sword itself.

The last time he had left it, it was in a hutch near the back of the room, and last he remembers, it was all completely silver. No details, no grip it decorations. But now . . .

Now the sword's blade shines with the metal it was forged with, pure and hardened steel. The hilt is still silver, but it has ornate designs etched into it and the pommel is now in the shape of an eagle with its wings prepped in flight. The hilt grip was black, seeming like it was wrapped with leather, and at the center of the cross guard, which is an enormous blue sapphire stone. It, is the center of the glowing light and it still ripples in a blue-green hue.

As Roxas stares dazed at the sword, he has the urge to itch his ears, and his teeth ache enough that he has to wipe his mouth. The sword's light dims as Roxas lifts his shaking hand and eases it towards the weapon.

His fingers slowly brush the hilt and cool around the black leather grip. He lifts the sword, and it feels denser than he remembered. He had meant to display it in the wall, it now he feels it was more appropriate to keep it down. The light slowly weakens into the stone and then it bursts into color.

Roxas immediately drops the weapon, but he doesn't hear it can't loudly against the floor. He had blocked his eyes, and so when he opens them, he nearly collapses as he finds the sword floating in midair.

He suppresses a scream as the sword hovers over the spot and slowly, translucent hands wrap around the hilt and then the form of an apparition starts to form. With wide eyes and a heart beating so fast he fears it'll come out if his chest, Roxas watches; and a small part of him, the part that accepts this strange unworldly bullshit, hopes that it is Ventus.

But his heart sinks and his blood goes cold at the sight of the shimmering spector of the Queen of Ivalice.

She is beautiful beyond reckoning. Her silver hair flows around her youthful face like a river of moonlight. Her eyes are a crystal, sparkling blue, and her skin is white as alabaster. And her ears are ever so slightly pointed. Though Lilian looks fully formed, the edges of her body gleam as though made from starlight. She smiles as Roxas lowers his arms and feels his skin then white. "Hello child." The Queen says.

Roxas stays quiet, awestruck and in a daze as he stares at the long time dead queen. "Wh-What do you want?" Roxas asks with his voice being soft.

"I came to warn you." She speaks. Nausea boils in his stomach. "You are not safe here. You as your men must leave. "

"What, why?"

"Take this sword," The Queen holds out her hands and the sword that she hasten holding, it glows a heavenly white with a delicate blue outlining and lifts from her hands.

Roxas watches as the tip if the blade begins to ripple with light. Then it slowly spread across the blade in the form of a scabbard. Them once the sword is encased in the holder, again decorated with ornate designs up to the locket. Then with a dainty push of her hands, Queen Lilian ushers it towards Roxas. He stares at it.

"It will protect you." She promises.

"From who?" Roxas nearly demands.

"They will explain everything to you." says the Queen. Then she takes a step forward and though Roxas has the urge to step back, his feet remain planted until the Queen is right in front of him. She delicately cups his face and lays a kiss between his eyebrows. She then whispers something to him that sends chills up Roxas' spine.

It's in a language he's never heard, and yet when she speaks it, his ears twitch and he understands every word. Then she takes a step back and smiles. "Be careful." She smiles.

"You should know who you're talking to." Roxas surprisingly smirks.

But when he looks back, the room is dark, and the Queen is gone. Roxas resists the urge to scream. He be holds the sword in his hand. It has stopped glowing, but the sapphire gem is still sinking at him in the moonlight leaking through his window. Dawn is soon approaching.

As he is about to pulls the sword from its sheath, he heard the know of his door creak. Immediately Roxas bolts for the bed with the sword in hand not trying to hide it. Instead, he lunges into bed and hides it underneath the covers. It won't be odd for anyone to find him sleeping with a weapon at least.

Roxas pulls the covers up to his shoulders and flops his head into the pillow.

* * *

Axel easily makes the trek to Roxas' rooms, though his head feels heavy, stuffed with endless knowledge that he still had little connections made. But he enters Roxas' chambers and they are silent and dark, and Axel cracks open the bedroom door to peer inside.

He finds Roxas sleeping on the bed, a sword cast off the side. Somehow, it seems fitting now that he lies sprawled upon the red blanket. His golden hair is spread around him, and a flush of pink blooms on his cheeks.

A book lies by his side, open and still waiting for him to turn the page. Axel remains in the doorway, fearful that he'd wake up if he took another step. At least he stirred. But there is nothing of the assassin in Roxas' face. Not a trace of aggression or bloodlust lies across his features.

He knew Roxas wouldn't hurt him. When they talk, as sharp as Roxas' words were, Axel always felt at ease, as if he can say anything. And he knew Roxas feels the same. So here he is, near the crack of dawn. Axel takes a deep breath. While he looked beautiful, that did nothing to mask the killing potential that lies beneath. It is present in Roxas' strong jaw, in the slope of his eyebrows, in the perfect stillness of his form. He is a honed blade made by the King of Assassins for his own profit, he is a sleeping animal - a mountain cat or a dragon - and his markings if power are everywhere. Axel shakes his head and walks into the bedroom.

Sure enough, at the sound of his footstep, Roxas opens an eye. "Is it morning already?" He grumbles, and rolls over. His eyes widen and blink several times before he rubs them prefsusly. "What are you doing here?" His voice sounds as if it's struggling between anger and relief and happiness.

"I came to see you." He feels immensely foolish, and for a moment considers running from the rooms.

Roxas then shifts and Axel can see a little anger as he folds his arms. "What for?" His voice suddenly sharp.

"I was hoping we could talk." Axel eases his way closer to the bed. That sword growing more and more intimidating. Roxas follows his gaze and takes the sword off the bed and leans it against the end table. Axel sets himself down on the edge of the bed. "Look, I need to talk to you because, I'm worried about you."

"Well it took you long enough to come visit me with you concerned thoughts."

Axel sighs. "Look, things are more complicated than that."

Roxas considers telling at Axel for such an oversized line, but thinking back to that spector, of which Roxas still thinks he dreamt, and decides to let Axel explain himself.

"Listen, it's early and I don't want to tell you everything yet, but I want to give you an apology." Roxas stays silent. "I'm sorry I didn't give you a chance to talk, I'm sorry if you feel like I abandoned you. But now I see, or more rather I understand. And I think I'm actually starting to figure you out Roxas Skyes."

Roxas slightly cringed at the title, but he. Am fight a small mischievous smirk as Axel winks at him. A part of Roxas feels bad about what he had done with Maleek, and while it could be that Axel never finds out, if this truly is going to be another whole new start, than he should come clean.

Roxas opens his mouth ready to speak but it shushed by Axel. "Look, you don't have to explain yourself. At least not now. It's early and I know you probably didn't have much sleep but, I just wanted to tell you, that I'm here."

The smile spreads wider. "Thank you, Axel." Roxas feels the red-head take his hand.

"Roxas, you are my dearest friend and I love you more than anything. I don't ever want anything to grow so cold between us again."

Before he can reply, Roxas feels Axel's lips on his own. And while he feels guilt for what was exchanged with Maleek, Maleek himself seemed to understand that it was pure weakness.

Axel pulls back and rests his forehead against the assassins. "We will face this dark together."

Roxas then kisses Axel again and cups his head giving a gentle pull into the bed. When their kissing becomes more passionate and fierce, soon it is only them, and skin against skin, and when they reach that moment when there is nothing more between them at all, Roxas kisses Axel deeply and welcomes him back.


	35. Chapter 34

When he wakes up, the first thing he sees are the flocks of birds that stretch across his shoulder blades. Their wings outspread and following one another. There's no distinct leader, but they all follow in the same direction. He can see the slightest tinge of blonde that's growing out from his roots, the brown dye finally wearing away to reveal the golden locks that inherits his head.

Axel tentatively lifts his hand from underneath the covers and reaches across the thin space between them and traces the tips of his fingers along the flock of birds. He stares at the right shoulder and delicately making his way towards the left.

Roxas shifts slightly, stirring the muscles in his back and relaxes. Axel's fingers withdraw as he turns towards the red-head. He snuggles down into the sheets further before his eyes flutter open. He smiles and breaths a laugh into the pillow.

"Hi." He squeaks.

"Hi." Axel smiles. "How are you?"

"Fine." Roxas shifts over to Axel and rests his head on Axel's extended arm while the other wraps around him and snuggles him closer. His eyes flick to the grandfather clock on the far side of the wall that ticks; its pendulum swinging back and forth. "I should go." He says.

Axel groans and tightens his grip on Roxas, tugging him down and causing Roxas to slip onto Axel's chest. He laughs and the redhead kisses the assassin's head. Roxas giggles goofily and props himself onto his hands and starts to kiss Axel more deeply. Just as Axel is ready to repeat their actions of last night, the door opens without much knocking and the next thing they hear is a squeal. Roxas and Axel both look up to find Sora with one hand filled with freshly folded towels and the other covering his eyes, though the redness of his face is amusingly obvious.

Roxas and Axel chuckle as the servant boy stutters. "I-I'm so sorry, I-I didn't think that –"

Both men continue to smile and Roxas slithers out of the redhead's arms and pulls on his undergarments. Sora is still babbling even as Roxas trots up to him and helps set aside the stack of towels.

Artemis, excited and panting, pats her way over to the servant boy who does his best to greet the dog while still balancing the towels in his hand. Axel and Roxas can both see the fear still in Sora's eyes. Roxas hasn't spoken let along see Sora since he stormed into the castle coated in blood and his weapons in toe coated red. The fear still lances Roxas' heart, but it's not like he doesn't deserve it.

As Roxas sets the towels on a nearby hutch as Sora still babbles. "I'm so sorry, Roxas. I didn't mean to."

Roxas only smiles as nicely as he can and spreads out his arms and pulls the servant boy in an embrace. Sora's face is still red, but he seems to calm slightly as Roxas hugs him.

"I'm sorry." Roxas whispers to Sora.

Sora stirs slightly, his eyes shifting towards Roxas, but he relaxes and pats Roxas' back. He smiles when Roxas pulls away, Sora sighs with a nervous laugh. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Roxas mischievously smiles. "Obviously, I am."

"Judging from that bruise on your neck I'd say so." Sora grins.

Roxas' fingers instantly fumble to his neck and he winces slightly as he feels a pinch of pain on his neck, right below his right ear. He swears profusely as he whirls to Axel. "Goddammit Axel!"

Axel merely chuckles as he shifts beneath the covers and rummages around looking for his underwear. Sora simply coughs uncomfortably and folds his hands in front of him.

"Um, I'll just leave you two. Again I'm sorry I interrupted."

"Don't worry. It's fine. And how are you?" Roxas assures.

"Fine." Sora shrugs. "Things have been quiet since you came back to the castle."

"No one has said anything?" Roxas asks. Axel has since shrugged into his trousers and walks over towards the dining room where a large breakfast feast has been set out. The smell of pancakes beckons him and Artemis trots behind him, her tail wagging.

"Nothing. Everyone's been quiet. Even the Faceless members. Though, I suppose it's good to know that you've intimidated them." Sora breathes a laugh.

"Have you seen Zexion?" Roxas asks as he wanders over to the dressing room.

"No, not since yesterday." The door to the dressing room is now slightly ajar, but Sora can still see a glimpse of Roxas as he washes his face and shrugs on a tunic. He can see Roxas grow rigid, but Sora continues. "He seemed okay, rather, distant. Worried."

Axel looks up from his seat at the table. His mouth in the middle of chewing a slice of toast as Sora speaks. Artemis is at his side, rigid still as she waits for him to toss her a crumb. He quickly swallows and gulps down half his glass of milk. "Did he seem at least, okay?" Axel carefully asks.

"I suppose." Sora shrugs. "His skin color is normal, he seemed well fed, still in shape."

"I should still try and talk to him." Roxas chimes as he emerges from the dressing room. He saunters over to the table and takes a seat at the head of the table, motioning Sora over. The servant boy follows and leans against Roxas' chair. "I don't see why they would punish Zexion so long as the castle it still in one piece as the rest of us."

"You never know with your mother, Roxas. Maleek says she can be unpredictable." says Axel.

"So I heard."

"When was the last time you spoke with your mother, Roxas?" Sora asks.

"Not since a week ago. Not since the fair. I barely remember leaving her." Roxas says. He feeds himself a spoonful of white rice. "And I don't think I'll be speaking with her soon."

"Why? Did she say something?"

"No, it's just . . . complicated."

Axel angles his eyes towards the assassin, his eyes looking to Sora. It's the same words that Axel had said to Maleek. So rather than ask questions, Axel decides to leave the matter until they can speak privately.

Artemis takes advantage of their temporary distraction to swipe a piece of bacon right off the platter, and Roxas squawks, "You brazen thief!"

But Artemis bolts from the dining room, scuttles to the hearth, and stares right at Roxas as she gobbles down the rest of the bacon.

Sora laughs, and Roxas finds himself joining in as well as Axel as Roxas tosses Artemis another piece of bacon. After constant persuasion to get him to stay, Roxas waves off to Sora, who denied them all, insisting he ate already.

Then Axel soon follows afterwards, sparring Roxas a couple more minutes of kissing before departing. He is still smiling as he rolls up the sleeves of his tunic. As Roxas pulls on his boots, he has to gently push Artemis aside as she constantly licks his face as he tries to tie the laces. He pets the dog a couple more times, kissing her soft head and hugging the pooch. Though it results in him having to dust off his tunic of her hair.

"You're lucky you're cute." He says to the dog, who wags her tail and huffs.

Roxas chuckles as he takes out his leather jacket, shrugging it over the attire given to him in Agrabah. It feels like it's been ages since he's worn it. But something about seems to separate him from the Faceless. All of the tunics he wears in the home make him feel a part of it, but not in the sense that he wants.

Leaving his room, he descends the stairs and heads down to the training room. Not soon after, he soon finds himself sprinting through the game park with the rest of his men.

Axel is keeping pace beside him, huffing breaths. The chill morning air is like shards of glass in his lungs; his breath clouds in front of him. They bundled up as best they could without weighing themselves down – mostly just layers of shirts and gloves – but even with swat running down his body, Axel is freezing.

He knew Roxas is freezing, top – his nose is tipped with pink, color stands high on his cheeks, and his ears shine bright red. Noticing his stare, Roxas flashes him a grin, those stunning turquoise eyes full of light. "Tired?" Roxas teases. "I _knew_ you weren't bothering to train while we were apart."

Axel lets out a breathy chuckle. "_You_ certainly didn't train while you had your spare time. This is the second time this morning that I've had to slow my pace for you."

A blatant lie. Roxas is ahead of everyone easily now. He even takes the lead of the pack, nimble as a stag bounding through the woods. Sometimes Axel finds it immensely hard not to watch him – to watch the way he moves.

He is even more incredible now, so fast Axel _still_ has difficulty keeping up with the assassin even with the training he's endured. Roxas is now a combination of both his mother's and father's training and techniques. He can scale a wall with ease, and had even demonstrated by climbing up to his own balcony with nothing but his bare hands. It unnerves Axel, especially when he remembers Roxas is only nineteen. Roxas never hesitates when he spars, but he seems to sink far within himself, into a place that is calm and cool, but also angry and burning. He can kill anyone, his father included, in a matter of seconds.

Axel can't help but wonder if Roxas was like this his entire life. A weapon raw and shining; forged from the hatred and anger of his parents; destined to lead an army of darkness. A part of Axel still wants to confess to Roxas about his father, but he has no idea how he would even react.

"Keep telling yourself that." Roxas says, and runs a little faster.

Axel increases speed, not wanting Roxas to leave him behind. Servant had cleared a path through the snow blanketing the game park, but the ground is still icy and treacherous underfoot. Axel's been realizing more and more recently, just hoe light-footed Roxas' feet are; even with the snow and his skill, he is able to run nimbly over the snow, making little imprint in it, whereas his companions struggled to plow through it. While he leaves the option open that it it's his obsession, but Axel could swear that parts of Roxas' skills are somehow enchanted or aided by his Elven heritage. But he doesn't want to degrade the boy, or enhance Vanitas' theory that Axel is viewing Roxas differently now that he knows of Roxas' genetic secret.

Roxas looks to him. "What's wrong?"

Axel fights his rising guilt. "Keep your eyes on the path or you'll slip."

For once, Roxas obeys him. "You want to talk about it?"

Not here. Not with the others around, though they have the right to know. Some them already do know, but have forgotten. Either way, Axel doesn't trust anyone, even his and Roxas' own men. He needs to keep this between him, Maleek, Vanitas, and Roxas.

When they finish their run, Roxas' legs are wobbling, and his lungs are so raw from the cold and exertion that he thinks they might be bleeding. They slow to a brisk walk as they head back to the toasty interior of the palace – and they giant lunch that he is very much looking forward to devouring before indulging into more reading.

They enter the castle gardens, weaving their way through the gravel paths and towering hedges. Roxas keeps his hands tucked under his arms. Even with their gloves, his fingers are frozen stiff. And his ears positively ache. Perhaps he'll start wearing a scarf over his head – even if Axel will tease him mercilessly about it.

With the men huffing and speaking through breathes, Roxas glances around at his companions, who have peeled off their outer layers of clothing to reveal the sweat-drenched shirts clinging to their body. They round a hedge, and Roxas stifles a laugh when he sees what waits on the path ahead.

Every morning, more and more ladies find excuses to be walking through the garden just after dawn. At first, it has been just a few young woman who'd taken one look at Roxas and his men and their sweaty, clingy clothes and halted their walk. Roxas could have sworn their eyes had bulged out of their heads and their tongues had rolled onto the ground.

Then the next morning, they had appeared along the path _again_ – wearing even nicer dresses. The day after that, more girls showed up. And then several more. And now every direct route from the game park to the castle has at least one set of young women patrolling, waiting for them to walk by.

"Oh, please." Axel hisses as they pass two women, who look up from their fur muffs to bat their eyelashes at him. The must have awaken before dawn to be dressed so finely.

"What?" Roxas asks, his brows rising.

Axel doesn't know whether he simply didn't notice, or he didn't want to say anything, but . . . "The gardens are rather busy for a winter mo ring." He says carefully.

Roxas shrugs. "Some people go a little stir-crazy being cooped up inside all winter."

_Or they just enjoy the sight of Roxas, Vanitas and even Maleek and their muscles. Their like the 'Three Assassin Musketeers.'_

But all Axel says is, "Right." And then shuts his mouth. No need to point out if he is _that_ oblivious. Especially when some of the ladies are exceptionally pretty.

They pass by and make their way through the doors, all sighing with relief as the warmth of the castle embraces them with wide arms. After some cool downs associated with warm cups of tea, Roxas and Axel tread their way towards the training room and set up the archery station for practice with their pistols. Roxas has even mastered that.

He can shoot straight at the black dot, making the bullets penetrate the same gap without straying even a centimeter. And then he can eject the empty magazine and reload before even Axel has time to blink, and he's off shooting once again. His aim doesn't falter even when he switches arms, or when he faces off against mannequins for practice sparring. He doesn't keep the gun loaded, obviously, but Axel watched as Roxas somehow, but incredibly incorporated his fighting techniques with the gun, whacking the dummy in the head with the grip, and then whirling around and aiming the muzzle at what would be a person's exposed side, or head or neck.

The Faceless don't have many guns, and they were intrigued to watch Roxas during his first round of shooting at the very beginning. They didn't take the gun or try to build some of their own, but they allowed him to keep it anyways.

Roxas hasn't used the pistol much, and even set it aside for some time of week; enough for a light coating of dust to blanket along the barrel. Plus, now that Roxas is forced to keep the sword of Farengar strapped to his waist, keeping the gun didn't seem necessary. But thinking back to how he had slayed an entire ship to obtain it, he decides it holds enough memories to be worth stocking.

Then there were those vambraces that Roxas had received from Zexion. They were enchanted with some kind of magic, and Zexion had explained that it was an incantation that made the metal, impenetrable. To Axel's dismay, Roxas wanted to test the theory, and had so casually asked some of the fellow men to demonstrate.

Axel stood by while Maleek, Vanitas, Demyx and Zack all circled around Roxas with his usual arm of weapons and his vambraces gleaming. The assassins were armed with swords and his men their guns. Within the count of three, they charged Roxas, and Axel spent the next ten minutes biting his nails down to the nub.

Roxas was incredible. He ducked, weaved, punched, kicked and swiped throughout the group, and to everyone's surprise, the vambraces truly did block any projectile – bullets and arrows included – and withstood the pressure and weight of blows in close-combat. Roxas emerged victorious and smiling; though the vambraces did protect him, they still don't prevent brazens and bruising. He then spends the next few minutes cooling his forearms and outing ointment on the rash skin.

By the time he's returned to his rooms and indulged himself in a lunch of grand taste and proportions, there's a knock on his door and Artemis is up and barking, her tail wagging as she sniffs around the crevice near the bottom of the door. Roxas swallows his last bite of a well-seasoned rib, he wipes his mouth and hands before getting up and opening the door. Vanitas stands there with a smile, and Artemis practically nudges Roxas out of the way so she can hop up on her hind legs and shower Vanitas with kisses. "Oh gods," he grunts. "you're getting bigger and bigger each day."

Roxas smiles and makes a way as Vanitas sets the dog down. "Aren't you coming in?"

"Actually I need you to come with me." Vanitas smiles, taking a couple steps only through the threshold.

"To where?" Roxas asks as he makes way towards the dining table. He sets all of his silverware on the plate and pushes it inwards slightly, then snatching a cupcake pastry from the tower set near the center of the table.

"Just to the library." Vanitas answers, crossing his arms and leaning against the portal.

"Since when do you read books?"

"Since before you even knew how to swing a blade. And frankly I'm insulted you find me so lacking in the love for literature." Vanitas cocks an eyebrow and smirks. Roxas bites the corner of his lip as he sees Vanitas wearing a deep red tunic with black ornate designs trailing along the hemline and stretching up lines vines from the ends of his sleeves.

Roxas chuckles as he licks off the remaining frosting of his fingers and wipes with a napkin. "Might I ask what the occasion is?"

"I'd rather not talk about it here." He replies, and Roxas feels a little bit of nausea. Vanitas notices Roxas' silence and chuckles. "If I wanted _that_, I would've stepped inside by now."

"By the way it sounds, I wish you came here for that instead of whatever it is you're about to tell me." Roxas says.

"Would it make you feel better if I told you Axel is there, waiting for us? Right now."

Roxas crosses his arms and sways from foot to foot. "Possibly."

"Again, it's not anything . . . bad."

"You hesitated."

"If you'll just come with me, I and _we_, will explain everything." Vanitas says.

As if reacting to his words, Roxas feels the sword of Farengar grow heavier as it's strapped to his waist. He leans slightly to the side and straightens up quickly clearing his throat. He does still need to speak to Axel about what he had seen last night, and by the way Vanitas sounds, perhaps his story will be the last bit surprising.

_They will tell you everything_, He remembers.

Roxas exhales through his nose. "Alright."

"Well that was fast. And I was spending the entire time thinking of ways to get you to come." Vanitas sighs with relief.

"Well enough has happened that I learned to trust you with these kinds of situations." Roxas sighs.

He wanders over to his nightstand and pulls out another small dagger that he slips into the hidden pocket of his vambraces. "Do you really think you'll need that?"

"You're really asking an assassin that?" Roxas retorts as he grabs his black leather jacket and shrugs it around his shoulders. Artemis follows in close pursuit, pressing herself in between Vanitas and Roxas.

"Are you sure she can come?" Vanitas asks as he holds the door open for the two of them.

"As long as she's with me." Roxas answers, turning to his right and starting down the hallway.

The two make their way towards the library with Artemis prancing through the snow and bucking around and munching on it. When the doors of the library are in view, Roxas laughs as Vanitas steps ahead to hold the door open.

"What a gentleman." Roxas smiles.

"Well, I am a bit of a romantic." He smirks.

"You've got your ways."

Against the warm inside air, his skin flares fire hot. His ears prickle, and he sniffs as a quick brisk of air bites at him as Vanitas closes the door.

The large chandeliers overhead are lit as usual, bathing the entire space in a warm golden light and up ahead, Roxas can easily spot Maleek and Axel sitting together at one of the large tables. Axel is seated while Maleek leans against it, nodding at something Axel is saying. Then when they hear the massive doors open, their heads turn.

Roxas smiles, but Artemis is the first to greet them as she sprints her way across the tile and hops up into Axel's lap for the briefest of seconds before she shoves off and flings herself against Maleek.

Axel's head turns to their direction and smiles, Roxas smiling back and increasing his speed in steps as he approaches. Getting up from his seat, Axel opens his arms wide, and Roxas walks into them with a kiss. Behind them, Vanitas shrugs off his own jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. Artemis licks Maleek's cheek one last time and sprints off down the hall. He watches her go, brows raised.

"I'm fairly certain that whatever she's about to do, it won't make the librarians happy." He says.

"She knows to stick to the poetry and mathematics books." Roxas approaches the table, of which Maleek steps aside, casting the brunette a smile. He pulls out a chair, and after a surprised smile from Roxas, he sits down. "Everyone seems nice today. It's making me nervous."

"Whether you should be or not, remains to be seen." Maleek sighs.

Roxas looks around the table and finds stack of books, old books, all around the surface. Maleek and Vanitas need to slide some of them aside to view the rest of the group. He can see some of the covers and finds them to be about mythical creature, Elves, Fairies, Gnomes. Roxas shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "What's going on?"

Axel is sitting at the head of the table, Roxas is off to his right, Vanitas is across from Roxas and Maleek takes the available seat next to Roxas. There's a moment of silence, and after the three men exchange glances, Axel turns to Roxas. "We want to talk about what happened the night we opened the portal."

Roxas' eyes widen and he whips his gaze towards Maleek, a little worried. But when he turns back to Axel, his lips form a thin line. "If you think passing judgment on me after I've eaten is in _any_ way a good idea –"

"No," Axel interrupts, waving his hands. "No – I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't judging. We just want to know what you remember; this is serious, and it'll all be explained in a moment."

The ice in Roxas' eyes melts completely. He leans back into the chair, and sighs. "Axel, just tell me what's going on."

"Roxas, just answer the question." Axel retorts, mimicking Roxas' tone.

There is a muffled shriek from somewhere in the library, followed by a string of howled curses and the familiar pitter-patter of paws on marble. Then Artemis comes sprinting down the row, a scroll of paper in her jaws.

"Wicked beast!" a man is shouting. "Come back here at once!"

Artemis just zooms on by, a blur of gold.

A moment later, when the little librarian comes waddling into view and asks if they've seen a dog, they just shake their heads, and Vanitas is quick to answer saying that he _has_ heard something – from the opposite direction. And _then_ he tells him to keep his voice down, because they are in a _library_.

His shoots daggers at Vanitas, the man huffs and scuttles away, his shouting a bit softer.

When he is gone, Axel turns to Vanitas, brows high on his head. "You know that scroll could have been invaluable."

Vanitas shrugs. "He looked like he could use the exercise."

"Besides, it'll buy us some time." Maleek chimes.

Axel has one book opened in front of him, and while all Roxas can see is the black outlines of the cover, he can make out the left page being made of names and lines that connect one another. A family tree.

"Okay, well whatever this is about, as for last night, I don't remember much. Well, I remember, parts, but not all of it." Roxas admits.

"What parts _do_ you remember?" Vanitas asks. "Or, how did you see it?"

Roxas pauses and shifts his gaze at the table. He swallows a couple times before speaking "I remember . . . just feeling so, terrified; when I saw you leap into that portal after Sora." He looks up to Axel, his eyes slightly gleaming. "I just needed to get to you, and that's all I felt. Fear and determination. Controversy in of itself. And I would've done anything to get to you."

"Including giving me a concussion." Vanitas says, rubbing the spot on his hear where a small scab still resigns.

"Sorry." Roxas says as he tucks his neck into his shoulders. "But what exactly does that have to do with _this_?"

"Do you not remember anything once you stepped through the portal?" Axel asks.

"I remember feeling this really, really, bad pain. But I suddenly felt so, powerful. It's like there was this well of power inside me. I felt like I can do anything. And, I slightly remember telling you to run, because I was worried. Then after that it's just blank white shots, and the next thing I know, I was back in the real world, and you were dragging me."

Axel looks towards Maleek and Vanitas who shrug and exchange more glances.

"But what does that have to do with anything?" Roxas repeats.

"Well," Axel sighs. "after you had entered the portal, from the moment your foot crossed that threshold, something . . . changed."

"What –?"

"Roxas, listen carefully to what we're about to tell you." Maleek coaxes, and Roxas watches as Axel fiddles with the corners of the pages in the book in front of him.

Roxas' brows rise. But Axel doesn't give himself a moment to reconsider, to second-guess his decision.

As succinctly as he can, he tells Roxas about his Elven heritage. He tells Roxas about how he had grown ears and fangs the moment he had entered the world. He tells him how he might contain a magic that reaches far deeper than even he had known. Axel explains about how he thinks that Roxas' rampage through the festival might be connected somehow. And then he tells Roxas about his father being held captive down in the catacombs of the dungeon, and how he had willingly helped Axel in discovering the origins of his inheritance. Axel even tells Roxas about the conditions and the demeanor of his father, and how he has given up.

And when the truth is all out, Axel takes the book in front of him and traces his finger all the way up the page, guiding Roxas' eyes to the name that ultimately turns his skin deathly pale. Lilian Gainsborough, the Queen of Ivalice.

The sword of Luchel, still strapped to his side, Roxas could've sworn it grows warmer the moment his eyes laid upon the name. Roxas swallows back a squeal, as he follows the names down and down until the Gainsborough name disappears and is replaced with Skyes. His father had never told him about this, and yet he had known; along with the Guild members.

He had been deceived once again. But the anger he expects to feel never arises. In their defense, his father had made sure that they had forgotten, and Roxas _did_ remember one year, during the Day of the Dead, he did dress as a creature of Fae description and remembers how other times he would run around the Guild scaring members with his stealth and what he thought were fake teeth.

Instead, Roxas merely feels, warm. Here are the answers to all of his previous questions, and despite the new ones that arise, he can't fight the feeling of satisfaction as he watches all of the answers spill in front of him. Roxas places a delicate hand on the eagle-shaped pommel of his sword.

But his father . . . all this time he has been here, and Roxas never knew.

He thinks back to how the Queen herself had told Roxas not to trust _Her_. And with things now blatantly obvious, the anger that he assumed would be aimed towards his Guild and his father, it aims itself at his mother. A sharp, silver arrow that longs to pierce her for answers and for vengeance of his father.

He wants to see him. He _needs_ to see him.

"So, how do you feel?" Maleek asks and Roxas can feel his hand pat Roxas' shoulder.

Roxas looks to him first, then he casts his gaze around the table to Vanitas, and finally to Axel. He licks his lips before taking a deep breath; strangely, a smile spreads across his lips. "It's, definitely an answer to everything that has happened." He starts.

"And how do you feel?" Axel asks.

"It's honestly, bewildering. To think that I have the blood of an ancient culture still inside me, it's amazing. But then you have the danger that comes with it and . . . it's just mindboggling." Roxas says.

"Well that smile you have certainly wasn't the reaction that we were expecting." Maleek admits.

"Not that we're complaining." Vanitas chimes.

"So, do you know which one I am?" Roxas asks.

"According to these records, it seems that your closest indicator is the Wood Elves, but we're still not entirely sure." Vanitas says.

"Oh."

Maleek chuckles. "Why that reaction?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Roxas chuckles. "I just thought I'd be something more . . . intimidating."

"Who's to say wood elves _aren't_ intimidating?" Vanitas laughs. "They're one of the best since they reign over forest realms."

"Yeah, nothing is more intimidating than a tree-hugging creature."

"I can vouch for that." Axel chimes.

Roxas smiles and looks back towards the book, his eyes finding Queen Lilian's name. He leans in and rubs his thumb along the pommel of the sword.

"Something on your mind?" Maleek asks.

"Yeah," Roxas mumbles. He takes a deep breath. It is his turn to speak. "I saw the Queen of Ivalice. In my chambers."

The silence that follows his words makes Roxas' face flush red. Despite the gazes that stare at him, he continues.

"It was when you came to my chambers. I was nearly asleep when I awoke to this pulsing blue light." Roxas starts. No one interrupts him. "I thought it was a trick of the light, an illusion of the snow, but when I approached it, I found it was coming from the sword of Luchel."

Roxas rises from his seat and draws the blade. It whines heavily and the blade gleams brightly even I the minimal light of the chandeliers. The blue sapphire stone winks at the men, and the eagle-shaped pommel is a shining grey, though silver isn't the proper term to describing how it shines.

"When I approached it, it grew brighter, and started floating." Roxas holds the sword horizontally to display it across his hands. "Then I saw her hands slowly close around the grip, and the she appeared." Roxas' hands follow his words and slowly coil around the grip of the sword, then he sheathes it at his side again.

"How did she look?"

"She . . . She was beautiful. And she had delicately pointed ears." Roxas flicks the tops of his rounded ears to give better detail. "A beautiful gown and her eyes were black, but she wasn't intimidating."

"So what did she say?"

"She handed the sword to me, and said that: it will protect me. And that _they_ _will explain everything_. I know now that she meant you. But also," Roxas rubs his arm. "She said that we are not safe here. And that we have to leave."

Everyone's eyes widen. And Vanitas looks to Axel, who looks to Maleek. The Faceless assassin merely shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. "I've been told she's always been suspicious of you and your men."

"And I can add to that pile by saying that Cloud had told me that she has an obsession with the Elven kind. And he ended up kicking her out of the Guild. She didn't run away." Axel says.

"And judging by the way you're making it sound, I take it her obsession wasn't healthy?" Vanitas asks.

Axel shakes his head. "Far from it." he turns to Roxas. "Roxas, I'm sorry to say this, but we have to get out of here. If she finds out what you are, there's no telling what she can and will do to you. Even if you are her son."

"I'll admit my mother has done some, sketchy things. And we haven't really developed the relationship I wanted. But where will we go?"

"To my brother." Axel answers. "He lives up in the northern continent of Ivalice. He has a shipment in town that leaves by tomorrow at dawn. If we can make it, we'll be out of here by tomorrow."

"Leave? As in, leave the continent?" Roxas breathes in fear.

"Out of everything we've told you, that's what you're most afraid of?" Maleek snaps.

"Maleek," Vanitas hushes. And Maleek mumbles an apology.

Axel extends out his hand and takes Roxas' hand. "I know this is sudden, and I know this is moving fast, but yu have to face the facts, Roxas. We are not safe here. Even with your father locked up here, you still have that bounty on your head, and with your mother's growing influence vastly, Kingdom Hearts isn't safe for us. We need to leave."

"I know you are right. It's just . . . hard to say goodbye."

"You've never traveled outside the continent?" asks Maleek.

"Never." Roxas turns to him. "I practically know every inch of the continent of Kingdom Hearts like the back of my hand. But to travel outside . . ."

"We'll make it, Roxas." Vanitas assures. "We have before. Winter is near its end, and Ivalice is nothing but warm, endless summers."

"It is the only continent out of my father's reach –" he looks to Axel. "We truly can go to such a place, like you promised."

Axel nods. "And we will do it together."

Looking at his face, Roxas stares into the frosted pupil of his left eye. The eye where he is half-blind. There's still a hint of green behind the frost, and Roxas tries not to wince as Axel blinks. When Roxas sighs, Axel knows that he has won. "So, what do we do now?" Roxas asks.

"I can leave and inform the rest of your men to meet in your chambers, you all should get back."

"The ship docks tomorrow, and leaves the next day." Axel informs.

"We'll be ready." Roxas says.

"I'll see you all tomorrow then." Maleek says as he waves off.

"Wait, you're coming with?" Roxas asks, a hint of happiness in his eyes.

Maleek turns and opens his mouth to say something, but he closes it. "That depends."

"What –?"

"I need to create a big enough distraction so that you all can leave."

"Will you at least be able to make it to the docks?" Roxas asks. He takes hurried steps forward, and Maleek can see a hint of desperation and sadness in his eyes.

"I can try." Is all Maleek can say. It's all he has to say, as Roxas flings himself forward and into his chest. Maleek's arms wrap around him instantly and he rests his face in the assassin's brown hair. He inhales the assassin's scent and strokes Roxas' back.

Roxas nuzzles into Maleek's chest, trying to memorize every inch of the Faceless Assassin. He had mentioned how Tifa was cautious around Roxas and his men, but . . . Maleek sure is more than acceptable of helping out Roxas and his men as opposed to reporting them. And Roxas knows it has more to do than his simple feelings for Roxas, if any.

Maleek pulls away, and Roxas almost whimpers. "Listen, all you have to focus on is getting your friends out of here."

The thought then occurs to Roxas. "Sora." He whispers. He whirls to face Axel and Vanitas. "Sora. We have to get him out of here, too. I won't abandon him."

"I'll take care of that." Axel answers instantly. "You look like you've got something else on your mind."

"My father. I want to speak with him." Roxas states.

"I can tell you how to get there. Do you want me there with you?" Axel asks.

"No, I think this is something I want to do alone."

"Are you sure?" speaks Vanitas.

"I'll be fine. You two focus on packing things, and Maleek, you'll let everyone else know?"

"As best I can." He promises. "But remember, you need to get your men out. That's your objective."

"I won't."

Maleek nods, and with a quick kiss on Roxas' forehead, he turns and exits the library. Roxas folds his lips in and folds his hands together. He turns to Axel and Vanitas and sighs.

After they spent ten minutes tracking Artemis down, they too leave the library.

During those minutes, Maleek was thankful enough to find most of Roxas' men in the training room or dining hall. They seemed more than understanding of Maleek's words, of which he told them everything as discreetly as possible. They all scattered back towards their rooms and Maleek is left wandering the halls for any stragglers. Tomorrow – he only has to get through tomorrow.

But there is no way Maleek could prepare for the summons he received from the Dark Mistress to meet her in her private council chamber. When he arrived, the rest of the Faceless Members are already inside, surrounded by fifteen other guards that he didn't recognize, all wearing deep black cloaks embroidered with black thread.

The Dark Mistress is smiling.

Zexion heard within minutes that Maleek had been summoned to the Mistress's private council room. As soon as he heard, he ran – not for Maleek, but to Axel. When Maleek had told them everything that Axel and Vanitas had found out about Roxas, and that Roxas had agreed ti their departure, everyone scattered to their rooms. Zexion knows he hasn't spoken to any of them since what had happened that night with the portal, but they still didn't know the full story; only that Tifa is dangerous and they need to leave. They don't know why, and while they probably don't need it, they deserve to know.

Aerith had come into his chambers not long after Zexion had returned to his chambers once the healer was done inspecting everyone. She simply stood there with undeniable guilt in her eyes and an urgency that kept Zexion from slicing her throat.

And what she had told him – _gods_, it made hearing the news of them leaving sound like the trumpets of heaven.

He almost collapsed with relief when he found the captain and Vanitas in Axel's dining room. But he wills strength to his knees as he crosses the room in a few strides and grabs the Captain's arms. "We need to get to Roxas. Now."

Axel holds the mage and speaks calmly. "Zexion he's fine –"

"No, he's _not_." Zexion pants. "We need to go _now_."'

"Oh, I don't think so." Someone purrs from the open doorway.

Zexion turns to find Paine standing there, arms crossed and smiling faintly. None of them could do anything as half a dozen other Faceless assassins appear behind her and she says, "The Mistress wants to see you all in her chambers. Immediately."


	36. Chapter 35

Cloaked in darkness Roxas' footsteps echo in the narrow hallway, his one hand brushes the wall with his fingertips. There are torches spaced seven meters apart from each other, casting his shadow along the moistened stone walls.

His ebony cape whispers against the floor and billows behind him, his face remaining expressionless beneath his obsidian mask as he moves. Since the meeting in the library, which was about an hour ago now, Roxas had since returned to his room and changed into his darkest tunic, his most comfortably fitting pants and his most padded boots that reach to his knee. The buckles along the foot and calf area helped to store daggers, hunting knives – and then his endless armada of weapons he can strap to his belt. The grappling hook clanging against his pistol.

His fingerless gloves fist as he counts the cells on his left hand side. His belongings are already packed and ready to go. It didn't take long, not that he had much to begin with. Everything he had owned, like with his father, is from the house. The only thing he technically had was the supplies from his and Axel's previous holds, of which they had forgotten about since joining his mother in the house. And then there's only the outfit he had acquired from Agrabah, of which he just unceremoniously shoved into a pillow case and stuffed into the very back of his wardrobe.

He still has the sword of Luchel strapped around his waist, and the checkered bracelet he purchased at the marketplace in Agrabah, and then Axel's ring of which is safely still around his finger beneath his gloves. His enchanted vambraces fit smoothly against his forearms.

He finally finds the numbered cell of which Axel had said his father was being held, and his heart thumps harshly. He does his best to keep away from the flames; his shadow no doubt giving him away. Though for all he knew, his father could recognize him simply by the gait of his footsteps.

Roxas takes a deep breath and quietly sighs into his mask. He approaches the massive iron door. It's as tall as a bear standing on its hind legs, and incredibly wide. The iron shines in the torchlight, yet Roxas can't see the inside well. There's no sound of movement, so Roxas approaches closer.

He steps up enough to peer into the bard window. And there, sitting in the corner, his body curled into a cloak that wasn't own – given how clean it was – and his face buried in his forearms; or perhaps the sleeves of his tunic. Roxas can't tell.

But he feels his heart shriek to a halt and sink down into his stomach. No – this, this can't be his father. This man, with his dirty clothes – stained and dusty and torn. His hair is a tangled mat and barely clinging to the golden glow it once had. Not to mention, he smelled atrocious, so much that he could be mistaken for . . . for a fellow vagrant. He doesn't even stir, even when Roxas knows he can sense his shadow crawl over him. For a moment, Roxas fears he's not even alive. That cloak seems thick, but even it has limitations when it comes to the unbearable chill down here.

Roxas takes the chance and swallows to prepare his voice. "Father." He says quietly.

He detects the slightest movement from his father, indicating he might've been sleeping. His head lifts ever so slightly, and Roxas can see his eyes blink. Roxas fists his hands when he sees the bruises and burn marks on Cloud's cheeks. First Cloud's eyes trail over to him, and then his head follows. When he meets Roxas' eyes, the assassin nearly crumples to his knees when he sees the emptiness in his father's eyes. So hollow, so distant. Like he's looking at you, without really seeing you. It's heartbreaking; to think that Roxas was once afraid of this man, to think that he once wished death and endless misery for this man. It would seem it has happened.

It seems he has been down here for a while. Months perhaps? Dirt has darkened his skin, the smell as an activist in that. His clothes seemed stained with stomach churning substances that Roxas doesn't even want to assume are, his hair is dropping and seems greasy from the moisture, and when he sniffs, Roxas can only assume he's caught something.

Something inside Roxas cries for his father as he watches the man's eyes widen, and his mouth open slightly. He still remains hunched in the corner, but he slightly uncurls from himself as he beholds the young assassin standing outside the door.

"Roxas."

That simple word was enough for Roxas to easily pick the lock and yank the door open. Within it, he could hear the relief, the happiness, the quivering in the voice as if he is ready to break down and sob just from the mere sight of his son coming to visit him. As Roxas unlocked the door, Cloud had shifted and is on his hands and knees, as if ready to crawl towards him, but Roxas is already inside, and he already has his arms around his father.

Despite the unbearable scent that almost makes him want to vomit, Roxas buries his head into his father's chest, trying his best to cling to the faintest scent of his cologne he used to always wear around the house in Twilight Town.

Cloud's arms easily wrap around Roxas, as if they were so used to the motion. On their knees, the two assassins embrace one another, the cell door wide open and Roxas can feel his father's hand cup his head. Even with his best efforts, seeing his father in such a degraded state had unleashed the tears and sobs that Roxas didn't even think were connected to his father until he saw him in such a crippled state.

That once proud, feared man seems like a dream. Gods, how he had missed the feeling of his father, without realizing it.

Roxas thinks he had flinched, but as he remains rigid, he feels his father huff again, and warmth drips onto his shoulders.

Pulling back, Roxas keeps hold of his father's forearms, of which feel grossly thin where muscle used to be.

His father, whom he has never seen cry before, has tears in his eyes. And they easily overflow and cut clean trails down his dirt-stained cheeks. More appear as the glide over the burn marks that hug his cheekbones.

Roxas just wants to hold him. It doesn't matter what he had done now, it would seem he has seen the error of his ways, or perhaps not; but he can't stay here. He just can't.

"Father." Roxas' voice quivers.

Cloud looks to his son, and runs his hands along the boy's shoulders and down his arms to his hands. "Gods," he laughs quietly. "you've definitely been keeping up with your training. And look at what you did to your hair."

Unbelievable. Even with all of the conditions he's been living in, even when he has been degraded and he can still . . . laugh. Roxas feels tears on his face, and he snorts as he tries to stop a sob. For some reason, he wants to apologize. But he claps a hand over his mouth and swallows.

"How long have you been down here?" Roxas carefully asks.

Cloud too lazily shrugs. "Days, weeks, months. I lost track. And I didn't think to mark the wall, I didn't think I'd be here long."

"Why didn't you break out?"

Cloud is silent for a long moment. Then he says quietly, "If you're down here, then I'm assuming Axel told you everything already. Therefore you shouldn't have to ask _why_."

Of course. Axel did tell Roxas everything. That's the whole reason why he had come down here. To see for himself. But what did he expect? For it not to be true, and for his father to knock him unconscious and drag him back to Twilight Town by the hair? Honestly, that would've been better than seeing this; that was the man Roxas knew, not this poor, decrepit man.

"Have they been feeding you?" Roxas shifts his leg, ready to push to his feet and haul his father with him.

"Not like I'd eat much of it. They drugged the water with a sedative."

"Did they ever try to interrogate you?"

"Often, but I was so out of it from the sedative they soon began to believe I was useless. I don't think she bought most of it if I'm still here. Or perhaps she finds it amusing."

"Either way, at least you know you're a decent actor." Roxas chuckles. His father joins him, and it's deep and like gravel, the signs of a sore throat. "Here, can you try and stand?"

"I can try, but –" As Roxas uses all of his strength into hauling his father to his feet, Cloud's knees buckle and he nearly takes Roxas with him to the floor, his hand scraping the wall. But what Cloud has lost in his muscle, Roxas has gained. He easily supports him and his father, throwing one of his father's arms around his shoulder, and bracing his hand against his father's back and sternum. "I can't guarantee anything." Cloud finishes.

"Gods, we've got to get some food in you."

"What do you mean?" Cloud asks, as he attempt to help by bracing one shaking hand against the stone wall. Just getting to the already open door will be a challenge.

"We're getting out of here." Roxas states. "And there's no way in hell that I'm leaving you behind. Not with her. Besides, you've got some explaining to do."

"Like what?" Cloud grimly smiles.

"Like you said, Axel told me everything." Roxas grunts as he returns his father's mischievous smile.

"Well, I'd be glad to shed some more light you need; that is if you think you can haul me all the way back up the steps."

"It'll give us some quality time to bond."

They've nearly reached the door, Roxas ready to guide his father out. In the torchlight, Roxas feels his throat tighten as he sees how baggy his father's clothes are, but at least the unwashed odor has lessened now that they are nearly out of the cell.

"Going somewhere?" a voice behind him hums. Instantly Roxas snatches his pointiest dagger and holds it out with one hand, the other still bracing his father. There stands Rikku with her odd dagger-like weapons in her hands. Warning number one.

"Get out of my way." Roxas growls.

"I'd be glad to, but you'll have to leave this trash behind. The Mistress want you to meet her in the game park."

"By the way you sound, seems the cat's out of the bag."

"Of course, she's not stupid. But you'll have to leave the dog in the cage."

"Look, this doesn't involve you. My business is with my mother."

"Well, if you want your little bad of friends to survive, then you'll –"

Every one of Roxas' restraints he'd locked into place a long time ago snap free.

Rikku doesn't even finish her sentence as Roxas rams his dagger straight through her throat, and slashes it off to the right, blood arching through the air and splashing onto his tunic. It feels warm and sticky against the coldness of the dungeon. She collapses to the floor, choking on her own blood, and splattering it onto Roxas face, but he doesn't even flinch. Blood already pooling beneath her body.

Cloud.

Roxas turns to find his father leaning against the wall, his entire body shaking as the cloak is discarded and he holds his middle. Roxas sweeps past him, Cloud catching a whiff of the coppery scent of the blood, and then feels the cloak around his shoulders.

"You need to go." Cloud orders.

"Now without you."

"I'll only slow you down and create more leverage." Cloud's shaking hand desperately grips the clasp of the cloak, Axel's cloak, with a vise-like grip. "I won't have that."

"I won't leave you behind." Roxas declares.

Cloud slinks back into the dark cell like a snake into its hole. "When you're done with them, which I know you will be, you can come and get me then." He slides back down to the floor. "Now go. Your friends need you more than I. And don't worry about the body, the smell will fit in nicely down here."

The sword of Farengar, practically breathing with pulsing light, only supports his father's words. This is a fight Roxas knew he didn't have the time to win, because he's already lost it.

He keeps his chin high. "I'll come back." He says quietly. "I'll come back for you." And Cloud knew that there is more that Roxas isn't saying, some bigger meaning behind his words.

But Cloud still believes him.

An icy, endless rage sweeps through Roxas, wiping away everything except the plan that he can see with brutal clarity as he bounds the steps of the dungeon. The killing calm, Cloud had once called it. Even he had never realized just how calm Roxas could get when he goes over the edge.

He will go to the game park. She wants to see the weapon he had become, she will get what she wants.

And gods help them when he arrived.

In the game park, Vanitas has already marked the exits and considers what decorations he can use as a defense or as a weapon. They had taken his and everyone's swords when they'd come for him in Axel's room, though they hadn't shackled any of them. A lethal mistake. Axel isn't shackled either; and the fools had even left Maleek armed. The Second in Command of the Faceless is doing his best to look vaguely confused as the Mistress watches them from her pedestal underneath a white marble pavilion.

The men are all pale, but dressed and ready for running or fighting. Axel weaved his way towards Demyx the moment they were brought to the game park. Sora is there too, and Vanitas is immediately at his side as the poor servant boy is deathly pale and looking on the verge of convulsion. Maleek, Vanitas, Axel, they all knew something was wrong, as Tifa has replaced her royal dresses in exchanged for ominous armor.

She still wears her wrappings, only how they're under a dark black plate mail that glows a deep purple like the armor has absorbed the flames of the house and now pulsate with the beat of Tifa's heart. Still the armor fits her, as it accentuates her curves and elongates her torso. If she were fighting a man, they'd easily be too distracted by her to fight back. And Tifa can use that moment to strike a deathblow and end it.

Darkness creeps in around her, spreading its fingers through the banisters, working to smear the room into a single black blur. Tifa's cloak stretches back over the polished wood, darkening its stretch behind her, black like a ribbon of ink. Her weapons hidden by waves of shadows that roll off her body like smoke from a fire.

"What an interesting day this has already turned out to be. What interesting information my spies have brought me." The Dark Mistress says, looking from Roxas' men to her own soldiers. "My most talented general, despite year of animosity, becomes close with my son's men. While my son" – Maleek doesn't envy the smile the Dark Mistress gives Axel – "has apparently been dabbling with the rabble."

To his credit, Axel snarls and says. "Consider your words carefully, Tifa."

"Oh?" the Queen of Darkness raises a thin eyebrow. "I had it on good authority that you were planning to run away with my son. Why would you do such a thing?"

Axel's throat bobs, but he keeps his head high. "Because I can't stand the thought of him spending another minute in this festering shithole you call a home. You lie and deceive and use him!" Vanitas can't help but admire Axel for it – for yielding nothing until Tifa shows her hand. Smart man, brave man. But it might not be enough to get them out of this alive.

"Good," the mistress says. "Neither can I."

Tifa waves her hand, and before Maleek can bark a warning, Kairi and Namine separate Sora from the group. Yuna and Paine hold Axel back, the other soldiers blocking the men as Namine forces Sora to his knees with a kick behind the knees.

Sora cries out as he hits the grass, but goes silent – the whole park is silent – as Namine pulls a sword and places it lightly on the back of Sora's slender neck.

"_Don't you dare_." Vanitas growls.

Maleek looks to Axel, but the captain is frozen. His gaze meets Axel's, and the captain flicks his eyes to the sword strapped to Maleek's waist. That would be his first move – get any of them a weapon so they can fight.

Because they will fight. They will fight their way out of this, or to their deaths.

The Dark Mistress says to Axel. "I would choose tour next words carefully, Captain."

"You're a damned fool." Vanitas says. Heads turn and Axel feels blood run cold. But Sora's head stays on his shoulders. "I don't think you realize who you're dealing with."

Tifa clicks her tongue. "If you were that good, you wouldn't be in this situation right now."

Vanitas lets out a low, breathy laugh. "I wasn't talking about me."

"He's just one boy."

Though his guts are twisting at the thought of Roxas in this place, with these people, though he is considering every possible way to get himself and Roxas and the men out of here alive, he fives the Queen of Darkness a grin. "Then you're really in for a surprise."

As if on cue, Axel catches the glint of sunlight on steel in the heartbeat before he leaps down out of nowhere from the sky, landing atop the pavilion roof and hurling two daggers at the archers nearest to him. They go down, and Roxas goes up – two more daggers thrown at two more archers. Axel doesn't know if he can watch them or watch Roxas as he grips the lip of the roof and flips over it, landing on the ground below just as several arrows strike where his hands had held the roof. Roxas' feet collide with the face of the member who holds the sword to Sora's neck. When they hit the ground, Roxas smashes his foot into the member's skull, and Axel's stomach clenches as he sees a small dent in the member's skull.

The Faceless assassins are shouting, some fleeing for the safety of pergolas and the exits while other rush at Roxas, weapons drawn. And Axel can only watch in horror and awe as Roxas draws two swords – one of them being the sword of Farengar – and unleashes himself upon them.

They don't stand a chance.

In the fray of bodies, the remaining two archers don't dare loose arrow that might hit one of their own – another intentional move on Roxas' part, Axel knew. Sora managed to seize the moment of freedom Roxas created and now seeks shelter behind Vanitas. The Faceless members abandoning them to go after Roxas.

He is a whirlwind of steel and blood. As Axel watches Roxas cut through the men as though they are stalks of wheat in a field, he understands why Cloud was so desperate to preserve Roxas like a diamond. And at last – after all these months – he sees the lethal predator he had expected to find that day on his ship. Even the carnage Roxas had created back then, it is nothing compared to this. What he had said to Vanitas that day in the hall, about what Roxas would do to his mother for her deception, his words are true.

And Axel so desperately wishes he was wrong.

There is nothing human in Roxas' eyes, nothing remotely merciful. It freezes his heart.

After yanking his blade out form the gullet of another Faceless member, he pauses in front of his mother, pointing a blood-drenched sword at her. "Get away from them." Roxas says, his voice filled with deathly calm. "Now."

Tifa refuses to break his stare. "Even this is nothing like what you had done at the festival." She smiles. Smiles, even as her own soldiers are lying dead or are close to death in front of her. Even Cloud had shown anger and grief for the loss of Lexaeus.

This woman truly has no soul.

"_Get away from them now_." Blood that is not his own drenches Roxas' clothes, his hands, his neck, but all he can see is the woman who he once wished to be his mother. He isn't ready for the bloodletting to end. He isn't ready to give in at all.

"You impress me more and more, my son."

"I am not your son." Roxas snarls. "I don't care about what you want. We're leaving, _now_."

The Dark Queen looks at her son for a long moment. She looks at the captain, her Second in Command, and Vanitas, so quiet and tall – beacons of hope for their future.

Then she looks again at her son, bloodied and mad with controlled rage that seems to impress her. "No."

Axel thought he had not heard it, the word that cleaves through the air just before he sees the flash of a steel-tipped dart shoot for Roxas.

Roxas' eyes flick in the direction just before the tip pierces into his neck. Roxas screams out and immediately drops his swords. He falls to his knees, his hand yanking out the dart enough to draw a small stream of blood that flows down his neck. A faint pounding starts in his head, followed by a flickering warmth. Immediately his body starts to twitch and shake.

Immediately his joints stiffen, his hands clawing and raking at the grass. Roxas blinks, black spots forming. But the pain stops.

No, not a stop, but a pause. A pause, then –

Right between his eyes, it aches and presses at his head, trying to get in. He rubs his brows. His throat closes up, and Roxas can feel something powerful churning in his gut – burning up. Each pulse of pain in his head makes it worse.

He screams and grunts in pain, gripping his head. Axel wants to run to him, but when Roxas swipes his hand across the grass, the green blades hiss and turn charcoal black.

"I knew you had it, boy." Tifa starts. She folds her hands behind her back and takes her first step down from the pavilion. "I knew you were gifted, my son. I just needed little hints to connect the pieces of the puzzle."

The blackness in Roxas' vision grows with each blow from the pain, and Roxas coughs. Distantly, as if he is underwater, he hears his mother speak.

"I had caught wind of the serum that your father had been developing after your horrific encounter with those mermaid creatures. And while he intended to use a fear serum for domination of his kingdom, I sought for something bigger." Tifa circle around Roxas, who isn't even acknowledging her presence anymore. He only wishes to fight of whatever poison she had injected into his body.

Roxas' head gives a throb – a blast of pain, and then . . .

A wriggling, squirming inside his head.

A worm of darkness, pushing its way in. His magic roils, thrashing, trying to get it out, to burn it up, to save him.

"I had always had an admiration for the Elven kind. Just the thought of beings with near immortality, untouched magic that even they fear to explore. Their strength, their skill, their power. They would make the best warriors for domination." Tifa says. "So I conducted with my Faceless members, to branch off from your father's fear serum experiment, and see if there was a way to combine it with arcane magic, in an attempt to . . . bring out, the power inside those who are special. Like yourself."

Zexion watches as Roxas blindly slashes and sweeps his hand at nothing. This is what Aerith had told him about. The day she had come into his room. Tifa was trying to create a serum that would infect the bloodstream of those gifted with Elven gene, or any Fae heritage of any kind, and then she would use that same serum to control them into her own army. The serum eradicates the iron in the mortal body, which cancels out the magic, and when it's gone, there is no barrier to stop the magic from flowing, and no stopping the shift that comes along with it.

It's no wonder why she seemed so careless about Roxas slaughtering her men. She wanted nothing but the best. And Roxas is going to be the proof of her experiment.

"Get it out!" Roxas rasps, pushing at his temples as he curls into himself, his chin nearly touching his chest.

His magic bucks like a stallion as the worm wriggles farther in. "_Get it out_!"

Roxas slams a hand down onto the green grass.

Blue flame shoots out. It explodes in a firework of flame, blooming out and incinerating the grass around him, turning it all completely black, but Roxas remains intact.

The worm latches into his mind and never lets go.

Roxas grabs at his head, his magic screaming, so loud it can shatter the world.

And the scream that erupts out of Roxas is the worst sound that Axel, or anyone has ever heard.

And then Roxas is burning, a living column of silver flame, sobbing as the dark worm continues its work and the walls of his mind begin to give.

_No – no_. He is screaming the word, because this time he can feel the shift happening.

Roxas vomits. His spine aches as he curls into himself more, his spine cracking and popping. His bladder loosening just before he vomits a second time. He is screaming or sobbing or not making any sound at all.

Then he feels the shift and the surge, a well opening beneath his stomach and filling with burning, relentless fire.

_No. No_.

Agony cleaves him in a pulse, his vision jumping between crystal clear and the muted eyesight of mortals, his teeth aching as the fangs punch out and retract, ebb and flow, immortal and mortal, mortal and immortal, shifting as fast as a hummingbird's flapping wings –

With each shift, the well deepens, that wildfire rising and falling and reaching up, up . . .

He really does scream then, because his throat burns, or maybe that is the magic coming out, at last unleashed.

Roxas bares his elongated canines as he finishes shifting and roars.

Roxas stands with a newly gained strength. His eyes, the burn brightly blue and the ring of gold shines even brighter. His eyes are more angled and his pupils are thin like a cat, and they are nothing more than thin slits. His ears are pointed and his fangs gleam in the light of day.

"Roxas." Axel whimpers as he falls to his knees. Tears stream down his cheeks.

The Elven Assassin jerks his head towards Axel, snarls, and lunges. Lunges, and then stops as he takes in the world with stunning clarity, smells it and tastes it and breathes it like the finest wine. Gods, this place, everything smells _divine_, smells like –

He had shifted.

There is a shrieking in his ears, and Roxas roars again, covering his hears as he falls to his knees again. He pants even though his lungs are telling him he is no longer winded and does not need as many breathes in this body. There is a tickling at his neck – his skin slowly beginning to stitch itself together. He is a faster healer in this form. Because of the magic . . .

"Incredible." Tifa breathes. Her eyes manically wide as she stares at Roxas.

Roxas jerks his head to her and growls, more animal than sentient being. And _leaps_.

Tifa immediately smiles, staying in place as she pulls out a small silver whistle and blows heavily. The whistle itself is small, no bigger than her hand, with three simple tone holes along the barrel. There's a black thread enlaced within a small circle at the end, and Axel can see it's connected around her neck. Her fingers cover the first and last tone hole, leaving the middle one open.

Axel winces, ready to hear the high-pitched shriek that will deafen him, but nothing happens. Roxas however, halts his pursuit instantly and roars out again, covering his ears and staggering away from his mother, hissing and baring his fangs in hatred.

"Stop it!" Axel screams.

Tifa turns to him and gives a wicked grin. "Witness, true power." She purrs. This time, she adjusts her fingers so that the last two holes are covered, and blows softer.

Roxas jerks his head back and forth, and then Axel watches as he stops snarling and settles into a somewhat calm, his ears still twitching. His eyes thin out into slits, exposing more of the brilliant blue ringed with gold. Tifa briefly pauses. "The strength of the Elven kind over others."

She changes notes again and aims her direction at the remaining Faceless trainees, identifiable by their grey cloaks. They all shift uneasily as Roxas slowly cranes his head in their direction. Without having to give a single, verbal order, Roxas turns and starts to prowl towards them.

"What are you doing?!" Maleek shouts.

"In the face of it, mortals are _nothing_." Tifa purrs.

Her fingers shift, and she gives a simple huff of her cheeks. Roxas stops, his eyes still thin, his teeth bared. And then he launches.

If they thought he was deadly before, this is nothing. Nothing at all.

Roxas fights his way through like a man possessed. He sues whatever he can to destroy whoever it is in front of him. But he doesn't just use his blades, but he himself as a weapon. Whatever part he can't pierce with his blades, he bites with his canines. He sinks them into the necks and shoulders of some members. His teeth rips their skin and blood and veins and muscle tissue splay into the air.

Blood – blood is on his teeth, on his mouth and chin.

He leaps forward and the Faceless trainees scatter as he slams into the ground, pounding with only his fists, everything vibrates as he creates a small crater. When a trainee tries to attack from behind, Roxas already has a grip on the person's arm and flings him forward to the ground, hard enough that she bounces.

Another immediately comes up and tries to punch, but Roxas dodges with maddening ease. Back and forth he weaves out of the way. And when he flings one aside, another comes towards him, he dodges each one. He jumps high into the air and plummets down, creating another crater.

Everyone watches, stunned and afraid as the boy whom they all knew, whom they all loved, is gone. His clothes and hands are caked with the blood of the members he had already butchered.

As Roxas goes to punch, one member surprisingly grabs Roxas' arm, but the Elven Assassin hurls forward, rolling the two of them before hurling the member off like a softball, sending him crashing into the pavilion roof.

He is fast – so _ungodly_ fast.

Now the members just mindlessly tackle him to the ground, and dog-pile as many as they can. But Roxas pushes to his feet, splaying his arms out wide with a roar. The sound of impact against them sounds like the beat of a heavy drum. The members go flying like nothing more than stones.

Axel finds the strength to push to his feet, though his knees wobble. He watches as Roxas picks up a blade and easily start to slice through the Faceless trainees like vegetables. Their brains and guts and innards spill along the grass, their blood pooling together, carnage in his wake. There is nothing but metal ringing and the shouts of the injured going down around Roxas, and Roxas is soaring through them delighting in the feral song that sings through his blood and bones.

They watch as Aerith comes flying down and seemingly matches Roxas' blades. After they parry for a few seconds, Roxas merely grabs the blade bare handed, and though Aerith struggles to wrench it free, Roxas yanks her close, slamming his foot into her stomach. She comes flying from her one spot, her body a limp projectile until her back slams into the ground, away from the blood. Then she follows the momentum and flips, landing shakily on her feet. One foot slides out from under her and she fumbles to her hands and knees. She instantly looks up to Zexion and his eyes sting with tears.

Aerith has a split lip, a gash on her temple, causing blood to stream down her face and into one eye, a smeared bloody nose and a bruise already forming on her left cheek. Without her wrappings, her hair looks like a few chunks have been seared off from her fire. Her wrappings are burnt and a few have been eaten away by the flames.

Her hand holding her dagger is covered in red welts, her clothes drenched in sweat. Zexion's stomach clenches at the sight of her calf. The flesh is a brilliant red covered with blisters. The burned area is the size of Maleek's hand. None of the skin is blackened. If it's bothering her, Aerith is excellent at now showing it. She shoes no weakness.

Roxas draws his blade, his cloak snapping erect and lashes out in a single smooth motion, the blade bathed in dark fire. Aerith falls backwards, her spine arching and her knees bending. After the sword passes harmlessly above her, she snaps forward lunges with her blades, swinging them in a dance that is beautiful to behold. Roxas wields his sword with both hands, needing the grip on to hang on when Aerith smacks it aside with her blades. One scrapes against Roxas' chest and catches in a crease while the other gouges the flesh underneath Roxas' chin. Hiss kin heals nearly instantly.

Axel hadn't seen Aerith fight before and could tell she was well experienced; but compared to Roxas, he is like a ghost. Nearly every swing Aerith makes seems to cut air. Blood splatters across the wrappings on her chest. Her wrist has been cut, thought Axel has no clue how. Aerith steps back and thrusts. Roxas parries with his left hand, then steps forward and slashes Aerith's right wrist. Desperate, she twists so the blow strikes the thin pauldron atop her shoulder. It did, and the pain is brutal, but the deep bruise is far better than the gash it would've given her neck.

Roxas' dagger cuts through the mail as if it is butter. The metal melts and smokes purple after each cut, helpless before a powerful magic.

Aerith holds strong, flipping back and away, her body curling around sword strikes as if he bones are water. She swipes out Roxas' feet and rolls the opposite direction, spinning and leaping high she vanishes in a puff of smoke.

She suddenly leaps from behind Roxas, but despite the surprise, he blocks it and hurls Aerith further across the garden, sending her crashing into the trunk of an oak tree, a small crater crackling with fissures imprinting. Aerith falls, but catches last minute, sloppily rolling to her hands and knees.

She retreats back, her shoulder aching, and she's avoided death twice by the sheer quickness of her feet. Breathing is getting difficult. Roxas, however, is still smiling despite the drops of blood.

The magic in both weapons collides, strength against strength. Sparks shower to the ground. Aerith's dagger dulls. When she spins, thrusting it forward, Roxas twists so she stabs directly into his vambrace. The dagger explodes into shards that bite Aerith's hand. Blood soaks her wrappings.

Roxas sways left and right, as if waiting. Aerith lunges with greater reach of her sword, hoping to catch her off guard. Instead Roxas smoothly parries to the side.

Aerith loops her sword above her head and strikes for his neck. The rogue steps forward again, locking with his sword.

His foot curls around hers. Their weight connects. Roxas lunges forward, slamming her elbow into Aerith's face. The Faceless member falls. A short sword stabs through the crease of her shift underneath her armpit and into her chest.

"Not dead yet." Aerith says, her voice sounding wet.

Roxas laughs.

He kicks the blade from Aerith's hand.

None can look away as they watch Roxas raise her sword. With one vicious stroke he cuts off her head.

One blow from that mighty sword.

That is all it took to sever Aerith's head. So hot is the flame on Roxas' sword that Aerith's body never bleeds, the flesh and veins cauterized by its heat. Aerith's body slumps to the side like a ragdoll. The scream that comes from Zack is bone-shattering.

They each see Aerith, as if connecting their thoughts together. She is smiling at the men as she escorts them to the castle. Showing Zexion spells and incantations. Giggling and batting her eyes as she converses with Zack at the ball. Giving a soft prayer for Hunter as his head was chopped off. Her words of warning as she spoke to Zexion about Tifa's plots.

A strong and beautiful young woman.

Gone.

Axel is too stunned to do anything other than watch the rest of Aerith's body topple to the ground. And then Zack, still screaming, is scrambling through the blood towards it – towards her head, as if he can put it back.

As if he can piece her back together.

Just as Tifa is about to blow another note for another order, Maleek sprints for her, and while she detects his oncoming punch, she doesn't react fast enough as his dagger plunges into her shoulder she screams, but tucks the whistle away as they rolls across the grass.

When they finish, Maleek leaps off, yanking out the dagger with it. Tifa pushes to her feet and snarls. Despite her bloodied shoulder, she draws her sword and the black flame swells around it. She merely gives a lazy grin.

Maleek is on his feet and crosses his daggers before his chest as Tifa takes a step closer. His daggers dripping shadows.

"I hoped you would submit. I cherish the honor of killing another heretic." Tifa spites.

If Maleek is upset, he doesn't show it. Slowly he sways from side to side. While Tifa watches, Maleek cuts just above his elbow and lets the blood drip down onto his cloak. Like a drop of dye into clear water, the red swirls and spreads across the dark cloth.

"Blood for blood." He growls. "I will bury you in my cloak."

Maleek lunges, his cloak whipping around him like a funnel, its length suddenly twice that of his body. When Tifa swings, her sword clangs off as if she'd struck stone. A cloak of shadows follows him as he vaults high in the air. For a moment he soars as if on wings, and then curls his body downward, diving like a bird of prey.

The collision is brutal. Axel gasps as shadows collide against shadows. A single harsh clang of steel rings in his ears.

Maleek's foot snaps out, striking Tifa's head. She rolls with the blow, ending on her knees. She swings behind her, but Maleek leaps over the blade and stabs his daggers for her neck. Tifa turns just in time, one dagger striking her chest plate, the other slashing her cheek. She rams her fist into Maleek's gut, grinning in satisfaction at the gasping cry of pain he made.

While Maleek takes on the Dark Mistress, Axel feels a hand clap his shoulder. He turns his head to find Vanitas, his face neutrally calm. "Axel, we need to go!"

Axel looks back to Roxas, who is still in Elven form, fighting the trainees and slaughtering them, and with Tifa distracted, they can evacuate. But what about Roxas?

"We'll worry about him later." Vanitas says as if he had read Axel's mind. "Remember what Maleek said: We need to get the men out of here!"

Axel nods and starts to take off in a run with Vanitas and the other, snatching a sword from a dead Faceless member. But as he sprints with his crew towards the exit of the game pack, Axel is body-slammed to the side.

"Axel!" Demyx cries out.

Axel doesn't need to know who it is as he sees hints of black and red out of his peripherals. Paine. They finish their roll and she draws a dagger ready plunge, when she stops and a long blade of a sword pierces through her chest. As her body is shoved to the side, Axel sees Vanitas behind her. Axel gets up while Vanitas yanks his blade out.

"Thanks." He says.

"Don't thank me yet." Vanitas says as he keeps his gaze ahead. Axel follows and then sees more of the official members approaching. He grabs his pistol and readies.

"Men, get Sora to safety!" he barks. "Guildmasters –" But they are already there with their weapons drawn, Zack and Xigbar offering to flee with Sora. "Go!" Axel commands, and he doesn't look to see if they go as he turns back towards the Faceless members, Namine, Kairi, Yuna. He releases the safety of his gun and pulls the trigger.

Maleek somersaults backwards, his cloak twirling before Tifa. She tries to push it aside, but she might as well have tried pushing down a tree with her bare hands. Blood runs down her face, a trickle curling in at the corner of her mouth. Tifa licks it and then spits.

"Fight me." She shouts as the cloak slowly drifts downward. She braces her sword, smoothly shifting between stances. Then he was there, ducking and spinning beyond her sword's edge. Normally Tifa would feel confident having such reach over her opponent's daggers. The length of her blade means nothing, however, if Maleek could weave around it as if in a dance.

Maleek spins in a circle about Tifa, his cloak stretching longer and longer. Maleek jumps into the air, his cloak snapping behind him. Realizing she is surrounded, and soon to be crushed, Tifa pours every bit of her power into an overhand chop. A horrific screech sounds as her blade hits the cloak. The dark-purple cloth shakes, cracks, and then breaks like shattered steel. All around her the purple material crumples to the dirt.

Feet slam into Tifa's back. The remnants of Maleek's cloak wrap around Tifa's head. The blow jerks Tifa's body forward, but her head could not move. Pain floods her mind as her neck wrenches awkwardly. Knowing his daggers will soon follow, Tifa falls limp, her sword swinging above her shoulder. The cloak vanishes as Maleek retreats.

Tifa spins on her knees, her weight resting on one hand as she gasps for air.

"A shame," Tifa says. "You could do great things with such skill."

Maleek begins swaying from side to side, his tattered cloak only hanging on to his waist.

Tifa stands and grips her sword. The black flame roars higher. She could kill Maleek. Everyone knew this, but Axel still holds hope that he can take her on.

"You're nothing but an ungrateful bastard!" she shouts. "I taught you everything you know! What could you possibly hold to hope to defeat me?!" she asks as she steps back, her left arm completely wreathed with purple flame.

Maleek lunges, trusting his speed. Tifa parries his first two thrusts and counters the third. When Maleek spins about trying to get closer, Tifa opens the palm of her burning hand. Fire explodes as if from the mouth of a dragon. The fire swarms over Maleek's cloak, setting it aflame.

Maleek wastes no time, jumping backwards and slicing off his cloak where it attaches to the clasps atop his shoulders. But Tifa didn't give chase as Axel expected. Instead she stabs her sword into the flame, turns it once, and then swings. Fire explodes as if from the mouth of a dragon. Maleek dives out of the way, and the flame heads for Roxas.

Upon habit, Axel screams, "Roxas!"

The Elven Assassin, who had just sliced the head off of another trainee, turns his head and lifts his arm. Axel is about to scream again, but the flame itself suddenly splits into two and blasts past Roxas without so much as a singe. The enchanted vambraces gleam brightly.

Tifa uses this distraction and backflips far away landing nearly next to Roxas. "It's time I finally end your worthless maggots!" she shouts. She pulls out her whistle again, and before Vanitas can load his bow, she blows once more, and Roxas' ears twitch once more.

Then he starts to take wooden steps towards Axel and the others, snarling with his teeth. Axel and Vanitas prepare to run, but they both get slammed in the back by an unknown assailant's feet, and the crumple to the grass. Axel's face lands in a puddle of someone's still warm blood.

He pushes to his feet quickly as he sees Roxas approaching, drawing a clean blade from his belt. Axel wills himself not to soil his pants as the blood dribbles along Roxas' lips. He spits it off to the side and snarls.

"R-Roxas, come on." Axel speaks, his voice is raw like he hasn't used it in days. Vanitas struggles to push himself to his hands and knees. "Roxas, please. Come on, it's me!"

But Roxas can't hear anything. The whistling is dominating his thoughts and is muffling his hearing and eyesight. All he can see are dark silhouettes.

Across the park, Demyx has just kicked aside a Faceless member, and as another one is about to give a deathblow, a blast of wind knocks him aside. Demyx looks and finds Zexion with a glowing white hand and a book in his other. "Thanks." Demyx smiles. But he doesn't give Zexion a chance to reply as his eyes immediately find Axel and Roxas. "No." he breathes.

"Demyx!" Zexion screams, but the blonde is already off in a sprint, hurtling himself towards the group.

Axel knows he's getting backed into a corner, but he manages to push to his feet despite Roxas' growl. He holds out his hands and tries to talk calmly to the Elven Assassin. "Roxas, come one. It's me! You know me!"

But all he receives are primal growls. Tifa manically laughs, nearly to the definition of insanity as she places the whistle at her lips and blows once more.

Demyx slices at the throat of a Faceless that leaps in front of him, and ducks and swipes at another. He wills his feet to carry him across the crimson stained blue.

Roxas approaches closer Axel can see a large hedge coming up behind him. "Roxas, stop!" he shouts. "Roxas!"

Axel stares dead into those icy blue eyes, the pupils practically invisible. Roxas widen his mouth and lets out a roar. Vanitas struggles to his feet. "Axel!" he screams.

"No!" Sora shouts. He fights against Zack and Xigbar who have had their own trouble getting him out as his training with Roxas has made him stronger. He manages to break free and throws a dagger clumsily at Roxas, who blocks it with his vambrace. Sora manages to make it Axel and struggles to haul the man to his feet, but another dagger hits Sora's shoulder and he screams as he slips to the ground.

"Axel! Sora!" Demyx screams. His feet run faster.

Roxas raises his arm, sword gleaming. He lets out a roar that reverberates through Axel's bones.

All Axel can do is gather Sora in his arms, under his cloak, covering Sora's face with his hands and wait for the deathblow to rain down.


	37. Chapter 36

The blow never comes. Instead, he hears something worse.

The sound of the dagger pierces flesh, but Axel doesn't feel it. He fears that the dagger might've found Sora.

Had it not been the sound of the victim choking on his blood and the smell of salt that reminds Axel of the sea.

No.

Axel uncurls himself from Sora, and finds the boy unharmed. Sora himself has pulled out the dagger, of which he holds in his hand, his other pressing onto the wound. Blood seeps thorugh his clothes and stains his hand.

The world has gone into a suffocating silence. All around them the fighting has stopped.

He turns to find Tifa with her whistle in her mouth. Maleek's body at her side; but he can't see any signs of injury.

Axel looks over and finds Roxas, heaving breaths, staring into nothing as his hand still grips his sword. Axel follows the line of his arm towards his hand, and then the hilt of the blade towards –

"No." he whimpers.

Roxas yanks the blade out and staggers back a step. Immediately Axel seizes the chance and scrambles over to Demyx's still body. He manages to roll him over onto his back, his eyes are shut, his body warm, but growing alarmingly cold.

"Demyx!" he screams.

Zexion is instantly at his side, breathing ragged and eyes glistening. Demyx doesn't react as Axel lifts his shift to examine the wound. He then starts to pat Demyx's cheeks. He carefully holds the blonde's head as other start to gather around them.

Tifa removes the whistle from her lips and smirks. She then turns and starts to make her way towards the small remaining group of her survivors, who don't argue, or speak, or flinch.

"Demyx?" Axel whimpers.

Zexion already has his hands hovering over the man's body, his head pressed against his chest. Axel sits aside and watches Zexion's face. His eyes are wide, eyebrows high and wrinkled with worry and fear. He breathes heavily as he continually runs his hands along Demyx's chest.

It's when Zexion grows still does Axel's heart sink. Zexion curls his cheek into Demyx's chest and squeezes his eyes shut. He looks up to find his friend, panic shaking throughout his body, and spoke, his voice just above a whisper, "He's dead."

Tears flow free anyway. Axel is suddenly breathing heavily. "No."

Demyx is dead.

Axel stares at the body.

An empty body, stabbed simply in the stomach, but aligned carefully to hit every internal organ to ensure the kill. The damage is enough that Axel's clothes are already black with blood.

People gather around them, and Axel smells the faint tang as someone is sick nearby.

But he just stays there, letting the others fan around him as they gather themselves from the carnage.

Suddenly, there's a tone that everyone hears, low and deep. Then Roxas grunts, and shakes his head. He blinks and his pupils finally return to normal. His canines retract, his ears soften into curves. He holds his head and moans, staggering a few clumsy steps. But his face soon morphs into raw fear.

Roxas looks around and finds nothing but carnage. The coppery scent of blood fills his nose, so much he fears he is going to be sick. He looks all around, seemingly forgotten where he was last. It is all a blank.

Rushing footsteps are behind him and he turns to find Luxord rushing past him. Roxas follows his gaze.

The world slows to the beat of an ancient, ageless drum.

Roxas beholds the sight.

Before him, some of his and Axel's men are on their knees, their hands folded, heads bowed. Tears and sniffs and stifled sob fill the air.

And on the ground . . .

On the ground . . .

Roxas can hear the sounds growing closer, reaching the air around him, but their words are somehow muffled. Like he is still underwater, the sounds coming from the surface above.

He stands at the front of the group, gazing at the blood, and Demyx's bloodied body atop it.

Demyx is dead.

The ancient, ageless drum – his heartbeat – pulses through his ears, drowning out any sound.

Demyx is gone. That vibrant, fierce, loving soul; the bard who had played with Roxas while he read, or simply tuned his sitar in his company; the man who had been a beacon of hope – just like that, as if he is was no more than a wisp of candlelight, he is gone.

Gone by Roxas' hands.

Roxas cranes his head towards his hands, they are coated with blood, but a fresh coating is on his right, and his blade drips it onto the grass.

Roxas falls to his knees. His hands shaking. "No, no, no, no, no." he whimpers.

He shoves his hands into the grass, his eyes catching the blood the swallows most of his forearms. Images of Ventus' death collide with Demyx's, and Roxas can feel the weight settle onto his shoulders.

It is always the same story, the same loss.

Roxas can feel the sobs wreck his body, the tears stream down his cheeks, but he doesn't make a sound. But he can listen; and each sob and sniff and sigh he hears lacerates his heart.

He crawls towards Demyx's body. He takes Demyx's cold hand and folds their fingers together. "I'm sorry." Roxas mumbles, his voice barely audible.

"Roxas?" he can hear Sora sob.

He shimmies closer and is about to rest his head against the man's chest when he hears Axel scream.

"No! Get away from him!" his words are followed by a harsh shove of his hands against Roxas' head, his other hand detaching Roxas' from Demyx's. Roxas stumbles back and nearly whines, as his canines still stain with blood and his ears droop slightly.

"Axel . . . I –"

"No! Stay back!" Axel screams.

Roxas tries to crawl closer to Demyx, wanting to feel his hand. He carefully speaks, "Axel, I'm so sorr –"

"I said stay back!"

This time, Axel's words are followed by his hand as it viciously slaps across Roxas' face. The crack of his palm against Roxas' jaw splits the room.

Roxas stumbles back, stunned; his eyes watering. He has never cried when his father hit him. He merely saw it as a punishment for his errors. But this, this is different . . . Bile rises at the back of Roxas' throat.

Sora's voice rings out shortly after. "Axel!" he shrieks. "It's not. His. Fault. You know that!"

"No, I don't." Axel retorts darkly.

He lifts his gaze to Roxas, who is shaking like he's been caught in a snowstorm. He mimics a child, but the blood prevents Axel from seeing him as such.

"I don't know anything about you anymore." He says while glaring at the assassin. "I know nothing of your _kind_!" he spits. "I guess sometimes children are bad people too."

Roxas' lip quivers as tears stream down his cheeks. His lip stretches wide as he readies to break into a hysterical sob.

The truth is too harsh to touch, and Roxas shies away from it before it sears itself into his brain and becomes real.

_If I can't feel, I'm not alive, I'm not real_.

Instead Roxas find a quiet place within himself where assassins don't exist, his family is still intact, and he's not covered in anyone's blood. Maybe if he tries hard enough, he can leave his broken world behind.

The harsh kneeing inside Roxas' head becomes muted – the grief of some other boy. Not his. Roxas holds himself as if he'll fly into a million pieces if he lets go.

He hears the faint wailing of the grief-stricken boy grow louder.

Then, it's muffled away by the sound of a high-pitched whistling.

_Not again_! _Stop_!

"No," Sora says. "You're wrong." To Axel's surprise, the servant boy angles Axel's head to see what is happening. And he says: "Children raised by bad parents do bad things."

The remaining Faceless members, Kairi, Namine, Yuna, all of their eyes water and their faces show horror, fear and sickness. They cowardly huddle as their Mistress approaches them and huff her cheeks another time on that confounding whistle.

A scream filters the air and heads turn to see Roxas gripping his head and flinging himself to the ground. He looks to be following Tifa and her remaining soldiers. Only a third left of what had greeted them in the game park, all wearing purple cloaks. Still, most of them with their wrappings about their head he can't tell apart from the three girls how they might feel.

Roxas is screaming and thrashing against himself. He shakes his head and grunts and whimpers as he turns away and tries to run back over to Axel and the men. He cries out as he fights off his Elven form once more, his teeth hesitating into fangs, his ears stretching and shrinking from points to rounds.

He tries to run to Axel, but Tifa suddenly grabs him by the back of his neck. Roxas only glances shining black hair and her brown eyes before being thrown to the blood-puddled grass. Pain slams through his face, light splintering his vision. She then places her foot on his back, seemingly to acquire a staff from one of her members. Her armor glows, pulsating with a purple light, her flaming sword has ebbed and rests like a normal sword at her side.

Roxas desperately claws at the grass to try and get away from her. Though he tries to stop them, tears of pain well.

"You belong to _me_, now." Tifa snaps at her son.

Roxas hisses, baring his human teeth, but the sound is muted. Fangless.

"You, are _my son_." She presses the whistle to her lips and blows, this time daringly close to Roxas' ears.

He buries his face into the blood and grass and dirt, whimpering and screaming once more.

Magic boils in his blood.

"_I don't know anything about you. I know nothing of your kind_!"

_Your kind_. Like Roxas is now just a completely different species entirely, and Axel wants nothing to do with him because he isn't human. Not fully anymore. Roxas can still feel the tingle in his cheek from Axel's slap across his face.

The darkness – it would be a relief compared to the hell smoldering in his veins. A part of Roxas is screaming – screaming at himself to get up, to keep fighting, to rage and roar against this horrible end. But moving his limbs, even breathing, has become a monumental effort.

He is so tired.

He can only hear Axel screaming as Roxas grows limp, and stops fighting. He feels the shift happen. And darkness swallows him whole and drags him down deep.

When Roxas open his eyes, they are angled once more, ears pointed with fangs sharp he whines again, and howls. His pupils reduce to slits again, and Tifa slowly leans off of him. Roxas rises, with wooden and twitching steps. As Tifa raises her staff, she shouts. "Today, we shall claim Twilight Town as our own!"

Apart from Kairi, Namine and Yuna, only a handful of the remaining members cheer and raise their swords and weapons. While Yuna wordlessly follows, her face a blank slate as she pulls her hood over her head. Perhaps he can have slight understanding. Both of her friends of the Faceless are dead, Maleek is a traitor, perhaps she's not as close to everyone else.

Roxas wordlessly follows, his eyes thin, ears twitching. He walks with stiff steps towards the Faceless, his mother in tow.

"Roxas!" Axel screams. He scrambles to his feet and goes to charge for Roxas, but hand claps his shoulder and halts him.

"No." speaks a raspy voice. Axel turns to find Maleek, alive, gripping his stomach as blood seeps into his wrappings. "No."

Axel growls at him, but he knows he can't fight off Roxas. Not like this. Besides, Demyx needs to be laid to rest. The thought pains him.

He watches as Roxas follows Tifa and her army through the far end of the gates. Until they're on the horizon and out of sight.

Unbearable grief sears through Axel as he falls to his knees. As he watches his lover rigidly walk with the band of Faceless, off with his crud mother, he feels tears overflow his cheeks, his heart harden and sink, and Axel braces himself on his hands and knees as he sobs.

_Roxas._

_Ventus._

_Demyx_.

He's losing everyone. And he can't do anything to protect them. The weight nearly crushes his chest, and Axel can feel himself sinking deeper into the dirt. Something inside him snaps, like a tether binding him too this world and he starts to feel himself floating up and up . . . until a hand grips his shoulder.

Vanitas feels chills on his arm as she sees the growing distance in the captain's eyes. He has to say something. Anything. None of them can afford to lose both men tonight.

"There are preparations to be made." Vanitas says.

"He would want to be here." Axel says, barely recognizing his own voice.

"But he would want you to do it."

Axel sighs. It takes everything he has to push to his feet and turns his back towards the carnage Roxas had left in his wake. "What about them?" Axel notions. "They deserve better. We can't just leave them like this."

"Leave them to me." Zexion immediately chimes.

As Vanitas follows Axel, out of his peripherals, Axel can see Zack, his eyes glassy with shock and distant. He walks over to the man and stands in front of him. Zack slowly raises his head and Axel can see that his eyes are almost like his left eye, glassy and frosted over with shock, pain, grief and loss.

"She is safe now." Is all he speaks to the man.

Zack nods. Axel's blood-crusted shirt rustles, and then he has an arm around Zack's shoulders. Zack himself hadn't realized how cold he was until he finds himself leaning against Axel's warmth.

He is still _warm_.

Even after what had transpired. Even after what he had witnessed, he _still_ bears cordiality. A fire that it not violent and forged in anger. A fire that is a beacon of light, a siren for those lost souls who can't find their way. The lighthouse in a sea of darkness.

Perhaps he hadn't really known his captain as well has he thought he did.

Axel doesn't say anything as Zack buries his face in his hands and weeps at last.

The sun signifies the late afternoon, but a grey overcast foreshadows it's light, coating the world in silver. Even though most wouldn't recognize them in their current state, the men remain silent as they pass through the iron gates at the back of one of the castle gardens. Demyx won't be entombed in the white marble building though; inside is for the family of the property.

Axel leads the walk around the domed building, feeling as if the faces of the cerement angels stare him as he passes.

None of them had bothered to change, the blood-stained clothes and swords at their sides; the holes torn in their shirts and bruises on their skin speaks enough about their grief. Perhaps it'd be enough to keep onlookers away. As though their sorrow is a plague.

But none of them gives a damn; the mourning isn't for anyone else's eyes. Axel leads the pack round the back of the mausoleum and beholds the stone rows of graves in the gravel garden behind it, the pale worn stones illuminated by their tendrils of the light of the sky. Statues depicting everything from mourning gods to dancing maidens mark the resting places of distinguished nobilities, some so lifelike they seem to be people frozen in stone.

Most of the snow has melted since this morning, so it is easy enough to spot the grave by the upturned earth for it. Zexion is already there, a ceremonial book in his hand as he flips through the pages. He had done a phenomenal job in cleaning up the garden, everything was clean, as if the bloodbath had never happened. Axel had watched from the window of his bedroom as he picked out clothing for Demyx to be buried in.

Zexion had raised his hands and had casted the entire park in a golden light. The bodies of the many Faceless that littered the game park lifted tentatively off of the ground and hovering flatly, as if on an invisible bed, and all lined up in front of him. Axel then watched as the blood evaporated, the singed grass bloomed green once more, and Zexion as he walked along each member, speaking blessed words of spirituality, wishing the souls well and hoping that they have found home in the gates of heaven. Then, one by one, each of the bodies were lit on fire, and burned into ash that got carried off into the wind.

During that time, Axel's started to cry; his lip quivering and he could've sworn he heard the sounds of the departed, weeping, singing, or cheering as they ascended into the sky.

Now . . . now it was time for them to mourn their own. And Axel can only hope that he will feel Demyx's soul depart into the land where he can sing and play and dance to his heart's content.

There are no flowers, not even a headstone. Just fresh soil and a sword thrust into the earth – the sword he used in the battle. Apparently, no one had bothered to give him anything more, not when he wanted to be remembered as a warrior.

The men gather around and Axel can feel Maleek and Vanitas at his sides. Their hands are folded in front of them, their heads bowed. Sora remains close to Vanitas, holding his arm and linking their fingers. Zexion begins to speak, reading the passages after passage that will act as the bridge for Demyx's soul to cross over into the afterlife.

Axel stares at the dark, tilled earth, a chill wind rustling his hair.

His chest aches, but this is the one last thing he has to do, the one last honor he can give to his friend.

Once Zexion finishes, and the group mumble: Amen, they allow the silence to settle along the group like a blanket and stopping the breeze from reaching them.

He watches as a blue butterfly – a butterfly in the near end of winter – flaps its wings along the air and settles at the head of Demyx's grave. There's a soft collective intake of air as they watch the butterfly settle on the grave.

Maleek then tilts his head to the sky, closes his eyes, and begins to sing.

Axel turns his head to the assassin; his eyes closed. It is in the language of Atlantica. And when the men hum along to the melody, their voices hiccup with half-sobs, the vowels stretched by the pangs of sorrow, the consonants hardened by anger. Some of them beat their chests in tie, so full of savage grave, so at odds with the bloodied clothes they wore.

The sky darkens, and everyone can see the shadows stretch their way across the property, like a looming figure. Maleek still sings the song as the men lift their heads. He merely opens his eyes.

The sky has darkened to mimic night, but a gorgeous aurora dances across the sky fading from color to color. Green tipped with pink, red smearing with orange. They seem to churn with the words of Maleek's song, and Axel can only imagine Demyx dancing within the lights. The gods welcoming him home.

And within the finishing stanza of his song, the lights slowly fade away and the sky returns to a grey overcast. Then after a soft rumble of thunder, rain begins to trickle down. The men tilt their heads up towards the sky and sigh, imagining the rain as blessing from the gods, washing away their sins and blood.

A breeze whips past them, making the branches of their trees moan and creak. Setting the capes of their cloaks billowing to one side.

Axel is the first to lower his head. He keeps his eyes closed as he feels a string of water slide down his cheek. The rain feels cool against his already raw cheeks. He looks at the grave once more and pulls out a small withered bouquet of blue flowers. Bouquet isn't really the best way to describe it, merely a gathering of Demyx' favorite flowers from the greenhouse; simply five or six flowers.

He bends to one knee and places the bouquet in front of the sword impaled into the mound. Demyx's favorite color was always blue. Axel remembers him saying that it's the reason why he loved to the ocean. To be surrounded by vast expanse of blue both above and below; he couldn't dream of anything better.

Rising to a stand, Axel wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm. He is the first to leave, and only Sora follows him. Maleek continues to lead the in the songs to honor the dead, some sing along, some remain silent. As Axel leaves through the black iron gates, he tries to suppress the ache in his chest that beats with his heart.

And he so desperately prays to the gods, as he hums a song of the departure, that he won't have to sing one for Roxas.

* * *

The darkness is rippling now, shifting with sound and color that he passes through. Roxas paces around the blackness above, around and below him. He tumbles through a thin, pale pink mist that swishes and curls around his hands.

"Roxas." Someone says behind him. Roxas pauses his step and looks all around, rotating to find the origin of the voice. Is it the ruler of Hell, come to claim him at last? "Roxas."

Roxas feels his body is rigid, as if he's frozen in his place. He can fists his hands, wriggle his fingers and toes, but his legs are lead, and his arms are pinned to his sides. But he manages to turn his head to look over his shoulder.

Demyx is whole, handsome and untouched, his eyes full of love and compassion. And then from behind him emerges Ventus, beautiful and tall. His death had been so similar to Demyx's, and yet so much worse, because Roxas knew what he was doing. He had not saved him, either. There's a whisper that causes Roxas to turn his head and he finds the two of them standing in front of him. Demyx steps past Ventus and approaches Roxas, still immobilized in his place.

He prepares for the slap, for the damning words that will forever lock him in scorching irons of Hell. Prepares for the hatred to seep into Demyx's eyes and for him to tear Roxas apart with each word.

But instead, Roxas watches as Demyx's eyes soften, he gives a smile of genuine concern and love. And he pulls the assassin into his arms.

His heart thumping loudly, Roxas so desperately wishes to embrace Demyx. To lift his arms and bury his face in the bard's shoulder. To inhale the scent of the sea and lotus flowers and forever remember the joyous and extraordinary light of a life he had so cruelly extinguished. He will wear the scent around him, encased himself in it and forever seize the burden.

"I am safe now," Demyx whispers to the assassin. Roxas' voice hitches as a sob tightens his throat. He nuzzles his cheek into the nape of Demyx's neck. Tears flow freely and he tries his best to compose himself, but his body wrecks as his shoulders jerk up and down. "_We_ are safe."

"Please forgive me." Roxas begs. He wants to drop to his knees, but he can't bend them. Behind Demyx, he can see Ventus, his face is soft, smooth. "I'm so sorry."

"I know you are."

"Please," Roxas implores. "Please stop me."

"No man nor woman can heal your broken heart, Roxas. You must learn to do that on your own."

"I can't." Roxas can feel Demyx rub his back. The feeling similar to someone tickling Roxas' spine with flower petals.

"You can. You are stronger than you think you are." Demyx coos. He speaks as if he is a thousand years old, the wisdom so deep in his tone. "Not many can bear the burdens that you do, and still be willing to walk, to breathe, to _fight_."

"I cause nothing but destruction. Blood trails in my wake and live end so abruptly at my blade." Roxas sobs. "I keep so much anger inside myself. I grasp my angst and loneliness and hold it in my chest. It has changed me into something I never meant to be. It has transformed me into a person I do not recognize. But I don't know how to let it go."

"You must fight, Roxas." Demyx holds his shoulders, and the urgency in his voice makes Roxas' spine tingle. "You can win. Face this darkness."

"How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?" he asks. Demyx is silent, and a pebble of anger skips across Roxas' thoughts. "I don't cause commotions. I am one. I can only cause destruction."

"Because you let them." Demyx chimes. Roxas looks to him, his lip quivering.

"Is there anything worth fighting for?" Roxas cries. Axel has abandoned him damning him for the loss of so many lives and of his friends, his father is locked down in the dungeons frail and useless and mad, and he is not trapped in his own mind and body while his mother leads him towards his hometown to throw the whole population into extinction.

He can still hear Axel's words: _I know nothing of your kind! I don't know anything about you anymore!_

"You must've let the words lacerate your heart. Those who suffer lash out with blind anger, like an arrow astray from the bow."

"He certainly hit his mark." Roxas murmurs.

"Roxas." Ventus' voice chimes. Demyx steps aside as the assassin looks up and the beautiful boy approaches, his body surrounded by a calm, golden light. "Remember what _I_ told you." Ventus cups the assassin's face, his hands so smooth. "Do not let your light go out."

The assassin only sighs, even as the boy brings their faces close, resting his forehead against Roxas'. Ventus' hands feel so warm, as did Demyx's. Perhaps it would even be more beneficial to just drop dead like they did. Lie cold on the ground, blue and cold as the sky burns.

"Do not let your light go out," Ventus orders.

Roxas opens his eyes, his lips parting to say something, but he looks to find he is once again along in the blackness.

Finally, Roxas drops to his knees, and sob after sob wreck his body. His bark arcs and he folds into himself, covering his mouth with his hands. He sobs like he never has before. His sounds are absorbed easily into the blackness; and he could swear he feels it pulsate like a heartbeat, feeding off of his misery and anguish.

Anger soon travels through his body as he finishes pooling out his sobs of grief, sorrow and regret. He can feel its levels rise, or perhaps that's the magic, but it flows through his veins, smooth yet mild.

He tries to picture his hands, his actual hands, and tries to think of surface other than the flat surface of the abyss. Slowly, his ears twitch. He's not strong enough, not yet.

But still, there's the sound of stone cracking, and something waves across Roxas' face.

He opens his eyes and finds a small hole about five feet off of the ground, no bigger than the size of a softball, and bright light leaks through, bathing Roxas' being but also stretching the dark shadows behind him. Pushing to his feet, Roxas approaches the small opening, realizing it's his exact height.

He angles his eye carefully and peers through. He can see his feet popping in and out of his vision; he is walking. There is a mixture of grass and stone beneath his feet; the sounds of chatting far, far away, and the soft clinking of metal against rustling clothing.

It's his body, and he's merely observing. As assumed, he is shut out while this thing, that creature that he had seen, it is in control of his body. Roxas steps back and looks around, expecting to find the creature not far, but it's all just blank blackness.

He feels way, way down, underneath his own skin; and waiting to hear his name again.

He has to try . . .

Closing his eyes, focusing on the heat on his eye from the peephole, Roxas tries to imagine moving his fingers though his hands are fisted at his sides. He keeps his focus.

_Focus_.

Then, something slips along his hands, then trailing up his arms. Roxas doesn't dare open his eyes to look in fear of breaking his concentration. Much like sliding on a jacket, Roxas can feel weight compress onto his arms, his shoulders and his chest. HHHe's sliding into his own skin. He can feel the blood flow once more, rising the temperature of his unknowingly cold skin, cold like a wraith and silent as the grave.

The sounds become more distinct, clearer when his Elven heritage slowly sharpens his senses. He can feel the thumping of his feet against the ground though he still feels welded in place. Everything is still dark, though he can see the movement. Roxas still doesn't try to open his eyes. Instead, he lifts his head and can feel the motion of his real head follow. His teeth tick with small pinches of pain, and his hair soon wafts in a breeze, along with the sleeves of his clothing. He can feel the clacking of his weapons against his sides.

He would've indulged in it more had it not been for the sudden lightheadedness that makes his knees buckle. Roxas throws out his arms, but keeps his mind clear and concentrated.

Roxas once again lifts his head, up towards what would be the sky. He can smell the dew on leaves, the thick air of a rain shower, the cooling effect of a cloud passing in front of the sun.

The back of his head tickles as he thinks of many other voices joining in with him. His imagination travels across the land, over the shimmering blue seas of the North and over the large grassy plains with white-tipped mountains. He can see people, tall and lean with beautiful armor ornate designed with weapons of exquisite designs, shadows obscuring their faces and features. But they too lift their heads and open their mouths.

Roxas then opens his mouth and begins to sing.

Tifa was riding on her horse, leading in her army of her assassins, her Elven son with gleaming teeth and pointed ears up front. He was quiet as expected, his face cast to the ground as his pupils remain thin.

She didn't pay much attention to him, though she did fondle with the whistle around her neck.

But her attention was easily diverted when she heard her son start to sing. Her head jerks to find his head tilted up towards the sky, eyes closed. Her other members immediately turn their heads at the sound of Roxas' voice singing a song that easily flows from his lips.

It was not in any language that she knew. Not in the common tongue, or in the original language of Atlantica, or in the languages of Agrabah or the Pride Lands or anywhere else on the continent of Kingdom Hearts.

The language is ancient, each word full of power and rage and agony.

He has an amazingly beautiful voice. The hair on the back of her necks stands as the lament pours from his mouth, unearthly and foreign, a song of grief so old that it precedes the land itself.

As Roxas sings, he could swear he hears the voices of distant listeners join him in mourning, aiding him in along with harmonies and fitting layers of notes. He can see the shadowed faces

And then the song finishes, its end as brutal and sudden as Demyx's death.

The lament still echoes through the world around him, carried on the wind like the pealing of distant bells.


	38. Chapter 37

The entire crew had soon gone back to the now abandoned castle as the first drops of rain slam into the ground, the sun long since sunk beneath the horizon. Tifa seemed so ecstatic about showing off her new "weapon" that she just left the castle. Most of the men then went and changed, still taking advantage of the attendance of the servants and of the free clothes and food.

Axel, now donned in a tunic of ebony black with leather boots that stretch up to his knees, and belts and straps wrapping around his thighs and arms and waist to hold his many weapons, now trudges through the moistened stoned halls of the dungeon; his cloak sweeping against the floor. Vanitas is at his side, being surprisingly quiet. Their footsteps are in tune with one another, sounding like nothing more than a single person down in the tunnels.

Vanitas follows Axel, the hood of his dark red cloak pulled up over his head. Axel would question as to why he chose such a noticeable cloak when they are going to be challenging the Faceless soon, but he is in no mood to talk to anyone but one man. Even with the shadows and his amount of skill, Vanitas could still be spotted, unless that's his plan.

They turn a corner and head down the now familiar steps of the bowels and Axel is surprised and cautious when he finds the hallway dark, lit by only one torch that sits across from Cloud's cell. The rest of the hall is dark and Axel and Vanitas find themselves approaching the circle of light as if it can curse away the demons of the darkness.

The door is open. And there's the body of Rikku, the spunky blonde and close friend of Yuna, lying dead with her eyes wide and bathed in a pool of her own blood, already halfway dry and dark.

"Oh no." Vanitas breathes.

Axel still pursues forward, placing his hand on his slenderest dagger and drawing it from his belt. He approaches the cell door and carefully angles his head around the frame.

"He said _he_ would come back for me." A voice speaks from the void. "Though I can't say this isn't a pleasant surprise."

Axel and Vanitas already have their weapons out, and they watch carefully as Cloud steps through the darkness, the shadows clinging to him like smoking tentacles that refuse to let him go. They slowly ebb away as he approaches the light. He walks still with a wobble and his clothes still dangle to show the weight he has lost, but his hood conceals his features and flows out behind him in a wave of obsidian.

When he enters the light, the shadows of his face stretch father, until he angles his head up to look at Axel. His face is gaunt, and there are deep crescents of blue under his eyes, indicating little sleep, and his face still bears the burns and scars. He wickedly smiles. "Axel."

Axel doesn't respond, but Cloud doesn't seem to notice. He turns his head to Vanitas, who by now is nearing his height. "Vanitas."

"Cloud." He replies with a nod of his head.

Turning his attention back towards the captain, Cloud nearly widens his eyes in astonishment when he beholds the lifelessness of Axel's eyes. So much had clearly happened since he had last visited Cloud in the dungeons. And the fact that Roxas is not around only makes the Master Assassin worry.

"So, how did the confrontation go? Judging from the rumble I felt, it sounded like it was quiet the reveal."

"You're the Master Assassin here," Axel snarls without meaning to. His voice mimicking gravel and distant. "You tell me."

Cloud presses his lips into a tight line and instead of feeling anger, he merely feels pity for the captain. Not that he would say that, but he has seen that look in the captain's eyes. He has seen it in his own son, witnessed the power it holds with his own eyes. It is dangerous but strong. But with the way the captain is, the moment he unleashes it, he will be exhausted. So exhausted.

And from there . . .

"Where is my son?"

Axel lips press firmly together, to hard they are white. "She has him."

Cloud's heart flares. "What?" he says stepping closer.

"If you truly care about your son," Axel says as he sheathes his dagger. "Then you will help me."

There, for the briefest moment he can see Axel's eyes flare with desperation and utter urgency.

Without a word, Axel turns away from the Guildmaster and starts the trek back towards the stairs. Vanitas steps out of his way and allows him to pass. He remains there looking at the Guildmaster, waiting for him to move. Cloud nods and follows after Axel, and finds him waiting a few steps up ahead.

"Can you handle the walk?" Axel asks.

"Don't underestimate me just yet." Cloud answers. Since Roxas had left, with his door being open, Cloud had done everything he can to try and least make his body grow tolerable of moving and hauling and swiping. It was a tedious task, given he would grow lightheaded easily and his arms would ache severely, but what he loved most about the seclusion of his cell is that there were little guards around to watch him do pushups in his cell as well as pull-ups and how he would practice his fighting with a small bent nail he pried from the wall.

He still lost a significant amount of weight, but at least his arms were still toned and his legs able. Even though he had to look as dirtied as possible, which he had no choice but to rub his own fesses and urine all over his face, his sweat from his workouts only added to it and making him more convincing.

It still works clearly as Axel and Vanitas seem to struggle to breathe with the close proximity they have in the narrow hall. Thankfully, Cloud's legs hold strong throughout the journey from the cell to the main floor of the castle. His legs burn but he easily overlooks the pain as Axel explains to him everything that had occurred while he remained down below.

Through it all, Cloud pictures nothing more than his dagger piercing that woman's heart with what she had done to his son. He had felt the thin vibrations of a guttural roar, and had nearly thought it to be a creature, like the one Axel had explained. But to find out is it his own son . . .

Cursing himself viciously aloud, Cloud continues to follow the captain with Vanitas two steps behind. And when they breach the door towards the main floor of the foyer, Cloud's feet burst in speed and he hurries straight for the floor-to-ceiling window and braces his hands against it. The glass feels warm as does the light on his face. The day looks so beautiful . . . it's hard to believe or even imagine that his son had slaughtered so many individuals, and probably is still slaughtering them right now.

"Even with the castle abandoned, we can't stay here another minute." says Axel.

Cloud watches as Axel walks his way around, not even looking or possibly caring if Vanitas or the Guildmster is even following. Cloud would've been insulted had it not been for the similar stature that he too has when he walks around the guild. Cloud quickly walks away from the window, shaking off the goose skin that crawls across his arms when he steps away from the light and the window. Cloud prepare himself a he watches Axel ready to push a giant pair of red glass doors.

"I have an apartment in the richer part of town, we can stay there for now." Cloud says. He stops when he finds himself in a training room with a giant glass chandelier and red draperies bordering the long windows in the back. His men, or rather, Roxas' men, and the captain's crew combined are all standing in the room with fresh clothes and weapons old and new, cloaks of varying colors and murmurs between the men are exchanged until they hear the door open.

Most of their eyes widen when they see both Axel and Cloud enter the room. There's a tall blonde young man, muscular and very handsome who turns and narrows his eyebrows, eyes wide. "What's he doing here?" he asks.

"We don't have many options, Maleek. Cloud has connection all over the entire continent of Kingdom Hearts. He is our only chance of even standing a chance against Roxas, Tifa and her so called army. He is staying; that is nonnegotiable."

Maleek presses his lips into a line, then shifts his stare to Cloud, his eyes tracing up and down his body, his sagging clothes, the smell of his body and exhaustion of his eyes. "Don't make us regret this."

Cloud simply glares, trying his best not to feel self-conscious of his dirtied state. "So what is your plan?" he asks the captain.

Axel continues to walk forward towards the group of men, Cloud follows. "We're leaving the castle, taking whatever we need: weapons, clothes, food. Then we're going to get Roxas back, away from that bitch and then we're evacuating from the city."

"What?"

"You can threaten me all you want, blackmail me, torture me, kill me, I don't care." Axel coldly, and daringly speaks. "But you have done _nothing_ to remove the bounty from Roxas' head, nor is this city, even this continent, is a safe place for him anymore with Tifa around."

Cloud sighs through his nose and glares.

"We are leaving the continent, you can be there for the departure, or if you can't really trust yourself, then don't. For once, you need to focus on your son, and not your stupid, _pathetic_ little - !"

"I am thinking about my son! Would you just shut up and let me talk!" Cloud barks back, silencing the captain. "This," he sighs, sweeping his arm through the air. "This is what ignorance does." Cloud motions to the window out towards the garden where the small war battle had taken place.

Axel doesn't show a sign of surprise or fear. Instead, he squares his shoulders and waits. "While I'm not happy with this decision, I can understand. I will remove the bounty, but he can no longer stay in the city if Tifa continues to hunt for him. But where will you go?"

"We're going to Ivalice." Axel answers. "I have family who lives in Lesalia and who will be more than happy to give us shelter."

"That's quite the journey."

"I would hope Roxas is used to such travel. He showed little fatigue when he was on my ship."

Cloud sighs, rubbing his fingers through his still greasy hair. "Fine. I will try to be there. But the biggest hole in your plan is how you plan to get Roxas away from Tifa. More importantly that whistle off of Tifa."

"Leave Roxas to me." Axel says. "I was hoping that you would be so kind to take care of your beloved wife." He sarcastically retorts. "It'll give you two a chance to get reacquainted."

Cloud shrugs his shoulders and gives a small smile. "I do owe her some favors, and it's about time I repaid her wonderful hospitality to me." He shakes his head, the smile staying. "Fine. But what about the rest of the men?"

"Vanitas and Maleek will divide among us, the rest of them will hold off the Faceless defenses."

Cloud crosses his arms. "You think they can handle it?"

"Tifa just let your son slaughter nearly a thousand warriors, without blinking. Those who remain will be tough, but with her Second-in-Command on our allegiance, they will at least be tolerable." Axel notions to Maleek, still with his arms crossed and dressed in an attire of dark blue. His cloak speaks of velvet, the black belts that encase him hold many small weapons and two swords.

"Impressive."

"Excuse me if I don't seem appreciative of your compliment." Maleek snarls.

"You're really giving me attitude after watching what it is my wife did to Roxas?"

"As far as I'm concerned, you're both the same when it comes to how you view your son."

"How dare you –"

"No, I don't care what you say." Maleek takes daring steps forward. He's close enough to Cloud to kiss him, but Cloud still has at least two inches of height above Maleek. "I don't let bygones be bygones. You tortured your _own_ son for simple disobedience. You sought to him as nothing but a weapon and a piece of your plan for domination."

"At least I still see him as a son, whereas she is now using him right now, hurting his body and ruining his mind –!"

"Enough!" Vanitas shouts. "This isn't the time for petty squabbles! Right now the boy that we all love is out there slaughtering innocents at the hands of a psychopath! So will all just please put your differences aside and think about Roxas for once!"

There's silence. And Axel keeps track of his heartbeat as Cloud speaks. His eyes soften once more and all anger seems to melt away and drift off his face like water. "I will not make excuses. Not for everything that I've done. But please, believe that I am different. That I have changed, and that I will do anything for my son to accept me once again."

"Then let's get moving. We need to make sure we have everything we can carry. Remember, we heading straight for the docks afterwards." Vanitas says.

"Once yu have everything, meet me outside the gates, hoods up and weapons concealed." Cloud says.

"Alright, and perhaps you can use the time to freshen up. Gods above, you smell horrible." Vanitas mutters with a grin.

Cloud hisses and grins, his face burning with earnest now. "Sitting in your own filth around moistened stone for weeks isn't exactly conducive to smelling nice! And maybe if I'd maybe been given time for a bath instead of being ordered to come directly here, I could still hold at least a small bit of the dignity I have left."

"We'll give you time to get ready and then you can lead us to your hidden apartment." Axel chuckles.

"Very well."

Cloud disperses from the group, requesting Vanitas' accompaniment. While the rest of the men scour the castle for anything and everything they want, Vanitas escorts Cloud towards Roxas' room since it's the only room he knows by route than other than the training and dining room. Cloud follows quietly, silent.

Vanitas feels his heart sink when he discovers the doors vacant, free of guards and closed off. The wood gleams in the light as the hall is silent. Myde was one of the guards that Roxas had liked; wonder if he had gotten lost in the carnage, or if he simply fled once he felt the castle rumble. Zexion didn't say anything, though he probably assumed nothing was worth mentioning.

Sighing and swallowing his pain, Vanitas opens the door. Inside the room is quiet, but Artemis is still there waiting as she had been all night and day. She notices Vanitas and her tail wags, but the moment that Cloud comes up, it stops and she's on her feet and snarling. Vanitas saunters over to the bed and scoops her over his shoulder. He hauls the dog out, though she is unusually obedient as Vanitas makes his way to the doors. "Don't take too long."

Vanitas closes the door behind him, leaving Cloud alone in the room.

Gods, the room . . . is smells like Roxas. Lingers with his natural scent and bits of where he would spray his cologne. The silence and emptiness threatens to swallow him whole. Still he urges himself forward towards the three bookshelves located off the side of the bed against one wall. The shelf is brand new, the wood gleaming with books placed on it both neatly and sloppily as if he was in a hurry to get it back to its place.

There is still more scattered on his bed, stacked on the coffee table, and half hidden in the shadows of his desk. The desk itself is littered with papers and books as if Roxas had only stepped out for a moment. As he reaches for the first paper, he finds the silver necklace with the star charm hidden under papers written with different languages of Kingdom Hearts.

Cloud wanders over to the dressing room where he finds wardrobes, and chuckles as he sees his son's closet hasn't changed. Despite how much Roxas saying he doesn't care much for clothing or looks, Cloud knew he loved silks and velvets. Cloud pulls out a deep purple tunic, gold embroidery around the lapels and buttons glimmer in the light from the scones. These are clothes for a man's body. And the scent still clinging to the entire chamber belongs to a man – so similar to what he remembers from Roxas' childhood, but wrapped in mystery and smiles.

Finally gathering the courage to step further into the room, Cloud enters the bathing room and smothers himself in water, suds, and steam. He roughly bathes himself, his wounds throbbing and his face feeling like it's been scrubbed to the bone. He watches the dirt swirl down the drain in brown water tainted with red as his wounds begin to bleed.

He stays in the shower long enough when the water drains that there's not a trace of blood or brown or yellow. He scrubs his hair mercilessly, smoothing it with shampoo to soak up the grease and shivers even when he steps out of the stream of warm rain.

At last he emerges from the bathing chamber, a towel around his waist and another rubbing his hair to soak up the moisture. He walks out to the bedroom to find the young assassin of the Faceless, Maleek, leaning against one of the bed posts. Cloud doesn't say anything as he approaches, and the young man lifts his head and gives the Guildmaster a placid stare before he jerks his chin towards the bed.

Cloud walks around him and towards the bed where he finds a fresh new uniform. One surprisingly fitting for him. He looks to Maleek, who only scans his eyes over Cloud's body once again.

He's well aware of how he looks. His body has thinned, but he still has enough muscle to be declared toned and somewhat healthy. He's not as thick as Maleek, though he used to be; and that's probably the one thing he is most embarrassed about. A young man of his teen years more built than Cloud, a Guildmaster. Still his skill is probably nowhere near Cloud's; but he knows better than to underestimate opponents.

The uniform consists of indigo pants with a sleeveless shirt, and a belt to hold multiple weapons. Shrugging the clothes on, he slips his feet into brown boots, and slips gauntlets over his hands with a pauldron over his left shoulder. The gauntlets are capable of holding very thin and slim daggers, and the belt with small swords and throwing knives. As Cloud adjusts the pauldron, he looks over towards the dining room and finds Maleek with a red cloak draped over his arm.

"For me?" Cloud grins.

"If it suits your style, but then again, you're not getting much of a choice." Maleek says, his tone less sharp than before.

Cloud walks around the room, stretches and bends, and even doing simple flips in the center of the room to test the fit.

"How's it feel?" Maleek asks as he approaches.

"Fits good."

As Cloud accepts the red cloak with a nod, he adjusts it around his shoulders and looks over towards the dining table to find a sword with a hollowed-out golden pommel glinting in the pale light leaking in through the window. He observes the sword, amazed at how powerful it just _looks_. Without second guessing, he lifts his head and to Maleek.

"Are you sure?" Cloud asks.

Maleek nods, a small amused smile on his lips. "Take it. Axel personally picked it from the small armory Roxas has in the gaming room."

Cloud takes the sword and straps it over his shoulder. He secures it in the mirror, and finds Maleek staring at him from behind. "Something I can help you with?" Cloud asks as he turns towards the assassin.

"It's just . . ." Cloud first expected some kind of snarky comment, but the young man's pause leaves him puzzled. "He looks so much like you, and yet he doesn't."

Cloud gives a cold chuckle. "Of course he would, if you mean by physicality. But . . . emotionally . . ." he sees Maleek shift slightly, rubbing his neck. "What I have done, and what she has scarred, it can never be removed."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Why does any parent do anything for their children? They think it will make them better." Cloud answers. "I don't know why it had to take being stuck in that dungeon to understand how, trapped I had made him feel. So secluded. So alone with little to no hope of gaining a friend, or a human in general."

Maleek can see Cloud starting to drift off as his gaze goes vacant. Cloud takes a deep breath. Maleek drifts his eyes for the third time over Cloud's body. With the newly fitted clothes his muscles are somewhat visible, the red cloak puddles at his feet, and his face still remains haunted even as he blinks and his eyes return to the present.

"I regret everything, but I don't know how to make it up to him."

Maleek walks over to the men and places a hand on his shoulder. "You already are." he answers.

Cloud looks to the boy and sees the truth in his eyes. A part of him wants to believe the boy, who seems to claim wisdom beyond his years. But until Roxas himself accepts him as his father once more, Cloud will do however he can to redeem himself.

Leaving the room, Cloud and Maleek make their way down towards the foyer where they find Axel and the men. Vanitas has the dog on a leash, and as Cloud approaches, Artemis approaches him and sniffs around his knees. Cloud extends a hand, and once Artemis deems him not worth eating, she suddenly hops onto her hind legs and places her paws on Cloud.

The Master Assassin lets the dog lick his cheeks, even chuckling as her tail wags and he barks with glee. Their similar scents must've deemed him safe.

Cloud sets the dog down and wipes his cheek. "Alright, we'll need to go four at a time. We don't want to attract too much attention." He says. "Axel, Vanitas, Maleek, Sora and I will go first. Terra, Cid and Leon, you will lead the rest of them, follow Gilwards Road up until the intersection of Market and Celaena." The three Guild leaders nod their heads. Flicking his hood up over his head, Cloud turns to the three. "Alright, with me. At least the dog will allure much suspicion."

Sora keeps his hands folded in front of him as he stays close between Axel and Vanitas. He has changed into a pale blue tunic without sleeves, and a short black jacket over it. His wears dark pants with black boots that stop below his knees, and Axel had given him a thin dagger. Though he's had a decent amount of training with Roxas, Sora was still hesitant to take it; and it still feels like a heavy weight against his hip.

Cloud leads the first four out of the house and down the gravel paths of the castle, where there are still some young ladies dressed with their lace fans. Vanitas keeps Artemis on a leash, though Axel can see he's having trouble restraining her as she's grown fair in size and strength.

Still, the men keep their heads down and as they pass the main gates and into the streets of the city. Thanks to the snow, though large portions have melted, some poor souls still have been conscripted into shoveling Traverse Town's most fashionable districts. Businesses stay open year-round, and despite the slick sidewalks and slush cobblestone streets, the capital city is just as vibrant that afternoon as if is at the height of summer.

Still, Axel wishes it was summer, since the wet streets soak the hem of his ice-blue cloak and so cold that it can't even keep out the chill. As they walk down the crowded main avenue, he keeps close to Cloud. Vanitas adds emphasis to perceiving them as harmless by letting Artemis pull him around, saying polite excuses, feigning embarrassment and letting the dog drag him from a lamppost to a fire hydrant. Thankfully no one pays them much heed – not when there were so many people, and so many stores.

Axel lifts his head slightly as he observes the people that pass them by. Oh, how Roxas _adored_ this avenue, where all the fine things in the world are sold and bartered! Jewelers, hatters, clothiers, confectioneries, cobblers . . .

Unsurprisingly, Cloud stomps right past every shop window, not even glancing at the delights displayed inside.

As usual, there is a crowd outside the Rift – the tea court where Axel and Roxas used to have lunch during their days off. He seemed to dine there every day with a few male courtesans. Of course, it had _nothing_ to do with the fact that most of Traverse Town's elite patronesses also dined there. Axel had nearly forgotten about all of the extra jobs that Roxas was taking in addition to his mother's contracts. Axel doesn't even remember how much money Roxas had stored away in his account that he has always kept separate from his parents.

The secret apartment – hidden on the upper floor of a warehouse – is still untouched. Though someone had taken the time to cover the ornate furnishing. They arrive only to have Cloud knock three times on the door, and then six times with the bronze knocker.

The door opens seconds later to reveal a young man with silver hair wearing the dark purple cloak of the Hawk Guild. It's strange . . . the purple is the same color as the Faceless, and yet it is nowhere near similar. There's just something about the tone of the color, the title it holds, even the wearer that make it different.

Sora peeks out from behind Vanitas, Artemis still sniffing about the hallway, to see the tall and muscular teenager with pale skin, bright blue-green eyes and silver hair. Sora immediately feels his cheeks flush as he watches the young man talk with Cloud before stepping aside and letting the Guild Master step inside. As Sora follows his heart skips a beat as he casts his gaze towards the silver-haired boy's waist to find an intimidating scimitar strapped. The black scabbard glints as the young man's cloak sways left, and only when does it curtain around the weapons does Sora look up to find the assassin glaring at him. Sora's cheeks flush red and he gulps, quickly ducking behind Axel as he stands across from Cloud, speaking with a man with even longer silver hair and ember-gold eyes.

"Who is that?" Sora asks Vanitas as he watches Artemis, who is sniffing around the apartment, having made her inspection.

The dark-haired assassin looks to Sora and then to where the servant boy's gaze remained as the young silver-hair saunters over towards one of the plush armchairs poised in front of the fireplace. "Oh that's Riku."

"Riku?" Sora repeats.

"Yep, he's the son of Xemnas –" Vanitas points inconspicuously towards the long silver-haired man speaking with Cloud. "– therefore heir to the Hawk Guild."

"Oh." Sora breathes. Riku is now sitting in the armchair with his arms crossed as he stares at Cloud and his father.

He seems almost perfectly still just from sitting in the chair. He only blinks, and Sora can barely see the lift in his shoulders as he breathes. Then Sora nearly jumps like a cat when Riku's eyes flick to him so suddenly. His expression remains neutral. "And what exactly are you doing here?" he asks.

Sora remains quiet, carefully stepping behind Vanitas. The assassin Riku narrows his eyebrows in annoyance. "What are you some low-rent whore?"

"Riku." Xemnas barks.

Sora's face feels warm and red, but the anger that boils in his chest is undeniable. He snarls and stands straight, stepping out slightly from behind Vanitas. "My name is Sora you buffoon! And I am Roxas' best friend, so I'd advise you to watch your tongue if you had any idea what was going on."

Vanitas and Axel are wide-eyed, Cloud merely smiling. Riku stares at the boy, but Sora doesn't back down. Finally Riku clicks his tongue and shakes his head before turning away.

As Axel watches Sora weave his way towards the front, though still flanked by Vanitas and Maleek, Axel can't help but give Cloud credit for the punctuality of his men. The last time he had seen Riku and Xemnas, it was when they were in Atlantica and they were escaping bandits looking to collect Roxas for the profit of the bounty on his head.

That was quite the distance they traveled if they truly did come all the way from the coastline to here. Not to mentions Riku looks older within the past months they had last seen him. The newly short hair is the least of his changes.

He's grown in height to match his father and even Cloud. His muscles have grown as demonstrated by the circumference of his biceps simply from folding his arms. His newly acquired sword it tainted with blood and is already showing signs of kinks on the hilt and pommel, signs of good use.

Axel eases his way around the group and does his best to inconspicuously explore the apartment. It consists of two bedrooms with their own bathing rooms, a kitchen, and a great room in which a deep-cushioned couch sprawls before a carved marble fireplace, accented by two oversized velvet armchairs. The other half of the room is occupied by an oak dining table capable of seating eight, its place settings still laid out: plates of porcelain and silver, flatware that has long since gone dull. It is the only evidence that this apartment has been untouched whoever – Cloud himself, probably – had ordered the place sealed up.

Cloud, the King of Assassins. Axel casts his gaze over to the master and grits his teeth. He watches the man still speak with Xemnas as the rest of the guild men file in one after another, some taking their seats at the dining table. Axel stuffs the last of the white sheets into the hallway closet. He's been thinking a good deal about Roxas' old master in the last few days. Cloud was smart enough to forbid Roxas from shifting when he found out about the boy's Elven form.

Cloud had known, and done these things to him . . . The scar on Roxas' wrist flashes before him. He's mad Roxas break his own hand. There must have been countless other brutalities that Roxas didn't even tell Axel about. And the worst of them, the absolute worst . . .

Axel had never asked Roxas why his first priority wasn't hunting down his father and cutting him into pieces for what he'd done to him. But now Roxas can only imagine what Roxas will do to his mother for what she'd done to his mentor Lexaeus. Tifa was the one who had ordered Lexaeus tortured and killed, and then devised a trap for Roxas that got him poisoned into his Elven form and hauled off with his mother. Perhaps Cloud even gave Roxas this apartment in future thinking of Roxas moving out. Maybe even move to this town, if he'd left this apartment untouched. Unless he knew of Tifa living here and must have wanted to Roxas rot with her – until he decided to retrieve Roxas and the boy would crawl back to him, his eternally loyal servant.

It was Roxas' right, Axel tells himself. His right to decide when and how to kill his parents. And if he betrays them all at the last second, Axel doesn't think he'll be able to restrain himself.

The rickety wooden staircase beyond the front door groans, and Axel has his sword drawn in a heartbeat. Then there is a low, two-note whistle and he relaxes, just slightly, and whistles back. He keeps his sword drawn until Terra strode through the door, sword out.

Even with all of the men in the apartment, the space doesn't feel cramped at all. Most of them take places at the dining table and the available furniture. Terra sheathes his sword and approaches the gathering group of Guild leaders.

Axel continues his browsing and stops in the center of the room, scanning everything. It was like Axel was getting a closer inside look of Roxas' personal life. Cloud had mumbled something about how he's left the apartment décor up to Roxas. So it's almost like it's _his_ apartment.

Whether he accepts or hates his past, he'd decorated the dining table in Twilight Town's royal colors – orange and gold. The table and the stag furniture atop the mantel are the only shreds of proof that he might remember. Might care.

Everything else is comfortable, tasteful, as if the apartment was for lounging and night by the fire. And there are so many books – on shelves, on the tables by the couch, stacked beside the large armchair before the curtained floor-to-ceiling window spanning the entire length of the great room.

Smart. Educated. Cultured, if the knickknacks are any indication. There are things from across the kingdoms, as if he'd picked up something everywhere he went the room is a map of his adventures a map of a whole different person.

The kitchen is small but cozy – and . . . Gods. He has a cooling box. Axel knew Roxas was notorious as an assassin, but he hadn't mentioned he was rich. All that blood money – all these things just proof of what he'd lost. What he couldn't protect.

Roxas had become a killer. And a damn good one, is this apartment is any indication. His bedroom is even more outrageous. It has a massive four-posted bed with a mattress that looks like a cloud, and an attached marble-tiled bathing room that possesses its own plumbing system. As he wanders back to the main room, he tunes into the conversation being set between the Guild leaders and Master.

"– the last we saw her, she was already up towards the Silver River. Making her already a four hour's trip form the city walls. Roxas seemed to be leading the entourage." says Xemnas.

"Gods above." Cloud breathes with aggravation.

"It makes no sense though, her members aren't even properly armed, and even her armor seemed too beautiful to be deemed useful." speaks Riku.

"I doubt she wants it to be based on use. Guaranteed it's for show seeing as how she has a new _addition_ to her arsenal." Cloud snarls.

"So what do we do?" Maleek asks.

Cloud simply folds his lips in and turns to Axel – who is still browsing around the apartment, specifically the bookshelf where a bunch of novels are lined up and stacked onto one another. Axel lifts his head and sets the book he had in his hand back on the shelf.

He walks over to the group and swallows. "Our plan is broken down into three parts: Get Roxas from his mother, hold off the invasion, and snap Roxas out of the serum."

"I will focus on keeping Tifa distracted enough so Axel can lead Roxas away from her. The Guild Masters will hold off the enforcers with the rest of you." Cloud explains.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Zack asks.

"No doubt that Tifa's recent massacre has enraged her remaining members. I'm sure through careful convincing you can convince her remainders to mutiny." says Cloud.

"What about you, Axel?" Sora asks.

"I'm going to try and get Roxas free of the serum."

"How?" asks Maleek.

"Zexion had created another serum that can negate the effects of what Tifa had injected into Roxas."

"You don't think that'll be fatal? All of those chemicals inside him." asks Leon.

"We have our theories; our original plan was to just take an empty syringe and just extract the poison. But by now we assumed it's made its way into Roxas' bloodstream. So this is our other option." Axel explains.

"So what do you plan to do after you've injected the serum?" Asks Cid. "Because if we're bordering the line of lethality, Roxas might not be able to think clearly the more you put into the poor boy."

"He'll survive. Wholly." Cloud interjects, more to himself. "I can guarantee that."

"But then what do you plan to do when or _if_ you can calm him?" Riku repeats the question.

"I'm going to try and talk to him."

There's a deep silence, and despite the flush he feels in his cheeks, Axel keeps his gaze on the men.

"That's it?" Vanitas voices at last.

"He is in there, I know he is. Just like I know he can gain control, if he's given the chance."

"And how will you give him the chance?"

"No doubt that there's so much chaos in his mind. I think what he needs is something he can focus on. And if I can clear his thoughts enough, maybe I can get him to focus on me."

"How do you know Roxas will even respond to you? Did you not remember what you last said to him before he tripped out?" Maleek nearly growls.

Axel's chest tightens, but he quickly pushes away the pain. "I do remember, but I didn't mean it. And Roxas knows that."

"Or so you think."

"Look, Maleek." Axel takes a step closer to the boy. "I know what I said, and it was out of anger, out of a heat of passion. But I know that boy better than anyone." Axel says with consideration to Cloud. "And even if he's rooted into the ground, I will pick him up. Like you said. Now if he doesn't respond to me, then I'll leave it for the rest of you."

"You can do this Axel," Sora suddenly speaks. Everyone turns their attention to the servant boy, but Sora keeps his eyes on Axel. "Roxas trusts you. And he loves you."

Axel takes in a deep breath, rattling its way as it goes in. "I hope your right." He whispers on the exhale.

"To Twilight Town, then?" Cloud asks Axel.

The captain looks to the Guild Master, and despite the conditions, gives the Master Assassin and smiles. "To Twilight Town, then."

* * *

A young boy walks the streets of Twilight Town at the crack of dawn with a thick burlap sack of papers strapped across his body. He ruffles through the sack and pulls out a thick roll of the day's paper and tosses it to the doorstep of the local tailor.

As he continues down the street, a carriage of white and gold trots down the street, followed by a simple farmer with a wheelbarrow filled with hay stacks. The streets slowly come to life as women and men emerge, arm and arm, sometimes pets in tow. Clocking of hooves echo across the cobblestone and the clicking of shoes morph together with the soft speaking of conversation.

The boy sidesteps couples and women, giving them a nod and friendly smile as they pass; the smell of their perfume delightfully infecting his nose.

Dipping his hand in his bag, he readies to toss another roll of paper, until he looks up to the sky.

The darkness on the horizon has spread, devouring the stars, the trees, the light. He pauses his walk.

Far up ahead, he can see the lining of the wall that protects the city and borders around the perimeter. Then it's a long stretch of land and a single gravel road until the tree line of the forest. Birds and animals stream past the green fortress as they flee – an exodus of flapping wings, padding feet, claws clicking on stone. Several dogs start to give barks of warning, and soon people stop their intended direction of path to turn their heads and shield their eyes.

A reek is rising from beyond the barrier, and some of the townsfolk behind him begin murmuring. A smell form another world, from whatever hellish creature lurks underneath mortal skin. Some straggling animals dart out of the trees, foaming at the mouth, the darkness behind them thickening. Guards ready their weapons and start to prowl towards the gates.

A stray dog, who was barking at first and standing at the main gates of the city, suddenly breaks into a hellish shriek of terrified whines and terrified howls. It turns and starts to bolt for the inner streets, its tail between its legs, racing for the inner archway. Like a paw of a massive beast, the darkness behind the creatures lash out, sweeping over the fleeing animals.

The dog falls midleap, its fur turning dull and matted, bones pushing through as the life is sucked out of it. The guards along the wall and turrets stir, some swearing. A woman screams in terror and grips the arm of her man beside her.

At the edge of the trees, hardly five yards from the outer gate, he emerges.

It's as if the entire town freezes, gathered in a holding breath as they behold the man or creature before them. He is clad in deepest black, his face young and male – unearthly perfection. Around his head is a cowl connecting to a cloak that stretches into a long ribbon of black ink into the forest.

The guards still don't attack, as if entranced. He comes through the early morning fog, no more than a sliver of darkness. He doesn't run – just walk with an insufferable swagger.

One step at a time, he approaches; and the sword on his back whines as he draws it. It's a beautiful sword, sleeked in gleaming silver with a fair-sized sapphire gem gleaming at the center of its hilt. The twilight glints off the long blade.

Finally, one bold guards yells, "_Halt_!"

The dark figure does, his features still concealed beneath the hood of his cloak. Still, that doesn't stop him as his lips form into a grimly wicked smile.

As he teeth glint in the light, so do the elongated canines; their tips stained with crimson.

The shadows retract, the man's eyes are revealed . . . and . . . and . . .

"_Holy Gods_," a guard whimpers.

The man's eyes were a stunning turquoise with a core of gold as bright as the sun.

There is nothing anyone could do as a whip of darkness snaps out and strikes the wall. The air shudders, and the stones whine.


	39. Chapter 38

King Mickey is already moving towards the oak doors, shouting orders to the archers to ready themselves and use whatever weapons they have to hold back the oncoming darkness. His royal court wizard is already scrambling around the halls, quaking at the Captain of the Guard to assemble his men. Another strike, and a turret on the northeast end crumples like a house of cards.

He grabs his sword, its blade a brilliant gold with a silver hilt, and straps it to his waist. Despite the ongoing blathering of his wizard, the King simply brushes him aside and continues on his path towards the royal gardens.

First he stops into the royal library and finds his wife, stunning in her pink gown. She turns away from her window, panic striking her beautiful features. Her advisor, Daisy clad in a long purple gown is next to her, her hands on the Queen's shoulders in comfort. The Queen simply sees the sword on his waist and she rushes to his arms. Tears stream her face, and the King pulls away and wipes them with his thumbs. "I shall return. You stay here." He calmly orders.

She nods her head and kisses her beloved's lips. He had stopped the chaos that enveloped the town months ago, few to little casualties. But this, the way the guards described the perpetrator, he seems . . . unworldly.

"Donald, Goofy, with me." He orders. Kissing his Queen's forehead, he then departs, his court wizard and captain out into the gardens.

He and his two men are on horseback, leading the small armada of guards out of the gates and towards the town. The gates part and sentries block off citizens as the King rides towards the danger.

The three of them keep on a straight narrow of road, thankful that the guards are already escorting the terrified to the castle and keeping them on the sidewalks. Hooves thunder on the stone, never faltering even as the entire town seems to shake again, and another turret slowly crumbles, bringing with it a chunk of the wall.

Guards are rushing to aid and escort citizens out of the way of falling bricks that topple to the other side of the wall. Everyone is sprinting, holding up dresses, hanging onto hats as they flee.

The male who had greeted them at the gate, he is already stalking the streets, furthering the herding of the citizens. More cloaked members join him, residents immediately recognizing their dark purple wrappings and black cloaks that pool at their feet.

The King halts his horse, and his men stop their pursuit as they spot the shadow cloaked figure as he just slashes the throat of one man with his one gleaming blade, and stabs the stomach of another with a bejeweled dagger. The King and the horses of his men immediately whine and rear in fear. He steadies his stallions as the young man angles his head towards them.

This is the god of death incarnate.

"I recognize you." The King breathes. "You're the son of Cloud Skyes. Roxas."

It is not with any mortal man's expression or voice that he smiles and says. "It is an honor, your majesty."

The wind blows back his hood, and when it falls, several men whimper and gasp. His court wizard and captain's breathing increase and they let their horses take a few steps back.

He is make of pale, porcelain skin, unfathomable beauty, and it is carved with glittering black veins. Even from the distance, the King can see the devouring emptiness in his eyes. It seeps towards them like blood in a river.

"Gods above and lords save us." A guard breathes.

Roxas' smile widens, revealing too-white teeth and pointed canines, and his turquoise eyes gleam brighter.

"He is not mortal, your Majesty." Goofy snivels.

Roxas stares at the man that rules the kingdom, or rather creature. The King is no bigger than the waistline of a full grown man.

And that's because he is nothing but a mouse.

Roxas used to always understand why it is he wanted the King dethroned so badly; what kind of kingdom are they to have a _mouse_ rule over them. A _mouse_! And his court wizard is nothing but a temperamental duck and an airheaded dog. They are the proof that magic had existed, as they had human forms, of which King Mickey was already on the throne beforehand, but once magic disappeared, and their true forms were revealed, a meeting was conducted and debated. And Mickey emerged as king still.

His father, having use the excuse of having a _man_ ruling on a throne, it was easy for him to gather an alliance of men and women behind him. Thus forming the Guilds of Twilight Town.

Roxas now looks at the man with degrading annoyance and disgrace.

As one, apart from Roxas, the Faceless assassins turn to the shadows behind them and step aside, heads bowed. Then, stalking towards the inner gate, Tifa appears.

Unlike her son, she is not beautiful, at least not in the unworldly status that he ranks. She bares the beauty of mortals. She is scarred and powerfully built, and armed to the teeth; wearing a torque of obsidian. She sits on a horse of midnight hair and her armor emanates with a purplish glow.

The King waits for her to say something, to parlay and offer a choice between yielding to her power, or death, to give some speech to break their morale. But Tifa looks upon Twilight Town with a slow, almost delighted sweep of her head, draws her iron blade, and points at the King and his men.

The King can't react fast enough as a whip of darkness hurls for them, and the next thing he knows he is toppling to the ground, rolling through puddles of blood as his horse shrieks out in terror as its neck is severed completely, and its knees chopped off with a swoop of a blade. Roxas is there, his blades gleaming with blood as he crosses his arms to decapitate one guard and uncrosses them to slice at two more. He doesn't aim for a particular place just mindlessly slashing, but still cutting deep gashes that pool with blood instantly.

Strong arms grab the King and lift him, and he finds his captain and court wizard already smeared with grim and dirt of the gutters. The King looks to find Tifa with her sword lowered, and she gives a simple jerk of her chin and her other members draw their weapons and build their way into a run before following the young Heir of Assassins.

His Majesty rarely caught a glimpse of the son of Cloud Skyes, and whenever he did, it was nothing more than a wraith of shadows, and a glimmer of blue eyes. But this . . . this cannot be Cloud's son. This boy is nothing of this world. He is ungodly fast, lethally skilled and heartless ruthless.

Even if his knowledge is vague, King Mickey knows an Elven warrior when he sees one. But how Tifa, a simple Guild Master, had managed to acquires one bewilders him.

Around him, as he runs in the opposite direction, he hears countless people screaming and wailing. Some falling to the ground as daggers pierce the backs or are tackled by a person with a purple cloak.

As another shot of darkness aims for the King, he blocks with his arm, bracing for the pain. But it never comes. The King opens his eyes and finds his captain with his shield standing over him. Then his court wizard is running towards the boy, wielding his staff. He aims the tip towards him and a bolt of lightning shoots for him.

But Roxas holds up his forearm, and the lightning ricochets off the metallic vambrace and strikes the blue-tiled roof, the crack sounding across the sky. Then the young assassin is in front of Donald and he knocks the wizard's staff aside before slamming his fist into his stomach. Donald grunts in pain and stumbles back towards Goofy's feet.

"Gawrsh!" Goofy wails. Then he barely covers his face with his shield as Roxas' blade strikes the metal. It rings out in a hair-raising shriek that creates goosebumps across the King's forearms. Roxas' dagger strikes the shield again, and this time Goofy leaps back and away from the King, and thankfully the assassin follows his strategy. Not because he is oblivious, but because he is trying to enjoy the moment. Tantalizing his prey.

With every collisions the metal makes with the shield, the sound booms all around the air, reverberating in his ears; mimicking the sound of grumbling thunder. He and Goofy dance back and forth, Goofy's shield getting dented and scraped with scratches.

Then on one final clang, Goofy holds the pressure of Roxas' blades against his shield, but his arms quiver. Then Roxas grimly smiles and then retreats back short enough the whip up his foot and knock Goofy's shield off of his arm. Then he spins and kicks Goofy in the on the side, sending him skipping across the stone towards the King and Wizard.

"We must retreat!" his court wizard Donald orders. Despite him wanting to stay and fight, retreating after he's barely drawn his blade, the King knows when to pick his battles, and this one is merely a death wish.

He pushes to his feet and runs, with his two trusted men and a bray of guards flanking him at all sides.

"May I peruse the hunt, mother?" Roxas asks, his voice husky with a deepened tone of a demon.

"You may." She replies. "And please, by all means feel free to play with your prey."

Roxas gives another wicked smile and draws his blade with unearthly grace. And then he bursts into a sprint.

King Mickey doesn't know how long the young Assassin Heir has been hunting him. It has been nearly a year since he had sent out his guards to dispatch the riot that was starting at the gallows for an execution. But the Guilds had gone unnervingly quiet after that; so much that the citizens ever thought they had finally quit.

But now he almost feels regret at the unearthly power and skill Roxas holds, and his clothes making him look more wraith than human. He can't hear footsteps, but he knows Roxas is behind them, melting in and out of shadows and mist.

He and his men take alleys and side streets, leaping over walls, zigzagging across the slums. Anything to shake him, to wear him down. He'd make his final stand in a quiet street if need be. There, he will take out his blades strapped to his skin and make the boy pay for the carnage he had created and all of the years of fear and torture they had lived in.

Haughty, stupid bastard.

King Mickey and his two men stagger as they round a corner, their breathing ragged and raw. They only have three daggers between them. They will make them count, though. When he'd spotted the boy just from the distance of his riding horse, the King had immediately taken note of the broadsword hovering over one of his shoulders and the assortment of gleaming, wicked-looking blades strapped to his hips.

The three of them are halfway down the cobblestone alley when they realize it is a dead end, the far wall too high to climb.

"Oh no," the captain of the guard panics. "What do we do?"

"Donald?" King Mickey addresses his wizard.

"I can't teleport us, not yet." He breathes.

"Here, then." The King answers. He draws his dagger and turns to the open street behind them. They will soon have the boy begging for mercy before he cuts the assassin into little pieces.

His men ready their weapons. Blue mist drifts by, and a rat scurries across the narrow passage. There is no noise, only the sounds of distant battles and screams of agony. Perhaps they have lost him. That bastard man made the biggest mistake of his life when he crowned the boy his heir to his "dark empire."

They wait another moment, still watching the open street entrance, and then allows themselves to breathe, surprised to find them a little disappointed.

"Master Assassin indeed!" Donald provokes. "It wasn't that hard to lose him."

"Donald." The King warns.

"Now we shall go back, stop the invasion, and rid this city of their filth and shadows." Donald chuckles, flipping his staff in his hand.

And then he appears.

While his body is muted by shadows, his eyes still glow with a feral gleam and his closed-lip smile remains as he walks with swagger.

One step at a time he approaches them, the tip of his sword dragging across the stone, stirring up sparks. He will really, really, _really_ enjoy making the King suffer. And in this forgotten street, he can take his own sweet time doing what he wanted.

King Mickey and his two friends retreat to the end of the alley, only stopping when their backs hit the stone wall. In a narrow space, the three of them can overpower the boy. This isn't a frilly, ridiculous competition run by nobility. Here, any rules applied.

Roxas doesn't say anything as he nears. But then his arms twitch and Donald and Goofy each wail in pain as their shoulders are impaled with golden daggers, their long blades buried to the hilt, pinning them to the wall.

Roxas is still as silent as his footsteps. And Mickey doesn't say anything as he rushes at him, swiping for the assassin's head with both blade and staff.

Roxas steps aside, dodging him with maddening ease. Kicky lunges again. But faster than he can follow, Roxas ducks and slashes his sword across the King's shins.

He hits the ground before he feels the pain. The world flashes black and grey and red, and agony tears at him. A dagger still left in his hand, he scuttles backwards towards the wall. But his legs won't respond, and his arms stain to pull him through the damp filth.

"Your Majesty!" Goofy cries.

The King hits the wall, blood pouring from his legs. Bone has been sliced. He will not be able to walk. He can still find a way to make Roxas pay, though.

Roxas stops a few feet away and sheathes his sword. He draws a long, jeweled dagger.

Donald swears at Roxas, the filthiest words he can think of.

Roxas merely chuckles, and faster than a striking asp, Roxas has one of Mickey's arms against the wall, the dagger glinting.

Pain rips through Mickey's right wrist, then his left as it, too, is slammed into the stone. The King screams – truly screams – as he finds his arms pinned to the wall by two daggers.

His blood is shining red in the sunlight.

"Mickey!" Goofy screams.

Donald thrashes, cursing Roxas again and again. The King will bleed to death unless he pulls his arms from the wall.

With unworldly silence, Roxas crouches before the King and lifts his chin with another dagger. Mickey pants as Roxas brings his face close to the King's. There is nothing beneath his cowl – nothing of this world.

He has no face.

"You've ruled on the throne long enough." Roxas says, his voice like gravel. He turns the dagger, pressing it into his neck.

And then without even an inhale of breath, Roxas buries another dagger the king hadn't realized Roxas had been holding into his thigh. So deep that the King feels the reverberation as it hits the cobblestone beneath. The King's scream shatters out of him, and he writhed, his wrists rising on the blades.

"You precious little wife will be next." Roxas says. Calm, so calm.

"Gold," King Mickey moans. "I have gold."

Roxas draws yet another dagger and shoves it into Mickey's other thigh, piercing again to the stone. Mickey shrieks – shrieks to gods who do not save him. "She's a pretty young thing."

"Please, leave her alone! I'll do anything. _Anything_!"

After a heartbeat, Roxas withdraws the daggers from his thighs. King Mickey almost soils himself at the pain, at the relief.

"Thank you." He weeps, even as he thinks of how he will punish the assassin. Roxas sits back on his heels and stares at the king. "Thank you."

But then he brings up another dagger, its edge serrated and glinting, and hovers it close to his hand.

"Pick a finger." Roxas says. Mickey trembles and shakes his head. "_Pick a finger_."

"P-please." A wet warmth fills the seat of his pants.

"Thumb it is."

"N-no. I . . . I'll give you everything!" Still, Roxas brings the blade closer, until it rests against the base of his thumb. "_Don't_ –!"

And then his prayers are finally answered as an arrow shoots straight for Roxas' head, of which he catches in his free hand. But it diverts his attention form the King.

The moment Roxas catches the arrow, another dark figure goes to strike him in the head, but Roxas brings his forearm up and the foot of the perpetrator hits the metal. He pushes off before Roxas has the chance to grab his ankle, and then Roxas weaves out of the way as another fist comes plowing, intended to hit his jaw. A third is waiting for the Elven assassin with two daggers drawn, though the Elven assassin evades the blades easily and blocks even as he and the third cloaked figure dances with him.

Three figures wean the Elven assassin backwards, and then two more drop down in front of the king. One is definitely older than the other. Their dark hoods cover their heads, masks conceal the lower of their faces. All the King can see are their eyes of blue and green.

"Please," he begs, shaking his head slightly.

"We're here to help." says the older male. The King can see bits of red beneath the hood.

Up ahead, Roxas swipes and slashes at the fabric of his two opponents' hoods, revealing their heads. Maleek, Cloud and Vanitas leap back and stop in front of the King and his two men, of which Axel and Sora try their best to pry them free.

"Come on, Roxas." Maleek says. Though he is still rattled at how different Roxas looks. Worry crawls up his spine as he begins to think of the troubles that bring with staying in an Elven form for too long. "We don't want to hurt you."

The two assassins only receive a vicious snarl as Roxas spins his dagger in his hands.

"Anybody got a plan?" asks Vanitas.

"Yeah, try and stay alive." Cloud answers.

"Anybody got a _good_ plan?" Maleek chimes. He charges forward and though Roxas blocks each of his combat hits, Maleek still manages to grab one of Roxas' multiple cloaks and spin and yanks park of the fabric off of the boy's body. Though the result is him receiving a punch to the face.

In the moment of gathering, they each take a moment to observe the new set of clothing that no doubt Tifa must've given him.

He wears a high collared sleeveless black shirt, black pants and boots, and a single sleeve covering his left arm, and a half-skirt on his left leg. They can only assume it conceals weapons. Roxas gained a new pauldron, and his chest is covered by two straps, held in place by a badge representing Fenrir, the Wolf God that has come to be associated with him.

None of them say anything as Vanitas is the next to charge, and despite the sound of their weapons clanging together, ensuring a timely fight, Roxas easily sideswipes Vanitas' blade before whacking his knee into his side and careening Vanitas over his shoulder and out of the alley with Maleek. Cloud is immediately there, and the two spar father out into the open street.

Once Cloud receives an array of cuts on his forearms and a kick to the groin, Maleek is already there to swing his blade at Roxas as he takes Cloud's arm, twisting it at an odd angle and kicking his feet out from under him.

Roxas dodges the sweeping bow of his blade aimed for his face. Maleek's arm shots past Roxas, and the Elven assassin grabs it by the wrist and bicep, locking and twisting his arm so he grunts with pain. Roxas whirls him around, careening into Vanitas hard enough that the two men go careening to the ground.

"Guys, we're getting creamed here!" Cloud barks.

As he speaks, he kicks up a shield from a dead guard and slips his arm into the holders. He charges next wielding his shield and dagger. Roxas' layered clothing is too cumbersome for her to dart away fast enough, so as Cloud swipes for his face, he bends back. His spine bends so easily it's disturbing, but the blade passes overhead, slicing through an errant strand of his hair as it poofs out of the hood.

The assassin drops to the ground and lashes out with a leg, sweeping Cloud off his feet. Before he even hits the ground, Roxas rams his knee up directly into the middle of Cloud's spine. There's a faint crack and Roxas grabs Cloud by the shoulders and hauls him into the air, adding a kick for extra distance.

Axel and Sora pry the last of the daggers from King Mickey and his men, strapping them to their belts and aiding them as they stand. The court wizard Donald is already healing his shoulder as he and the captain help the King to his feet.

"Thank you." He wearily says to Axel and Sora.

"Listen, you need to get out of here. We have men out there defending the Faceless, and you have to warn your guards that the ones with the purple cloaks are deadly." Axel instructs. "We have members who wear the cloak too, but you'll know the difference."

King Mickey nods his head. "He'll need an escort." Sora says.

As if on cue, Maleek slaps into the ground and slides across the dirtied stone towards Sora and Axel. "That'll work." Axel grimly chuckles. "Maleek."

"Yeah." He grunts as he pushes to his hands and knees.

"We need you to escort the King out of here. Get him to his men and help fend off the rest of the Faceless. You worked with them, no doubt you can try and convince some of them to turn mutiny."

"Aright." Maleek shakes his head. He spits out blood and pushes to his feet, sheathing one dagger. "Hopefully you three can keep up."

"Sora go with him." Axel says.

"What? Are you sure?"

"I am. Look, I don't want you to argue, and I don't care if you want to try and prove yourself. I don't want anything to happen to you, and if you get severely hurt from Roxas, he will never be able to forgive himself."

"What about Vanitas, Maleek his father?"

Donald is nearly done healing Goofy and Mickey's shoulders. Maleek wipes his bloodied nose as Axel says. "They've had more experience in this field, and they have a higher pain tolerance. They'll survive."

To emphasize, Maleek looks over to wards Roxas, guiding Sora's and Axel's. Roxas strikes like a viper. Still only with his bare hands, his fists plow into Vanitas' face. His hands strike like snakes, so fast and speedy that Vanitas can't even have time to block one blow and prepare for the next. His face receives hits from Roxas' hands, elbows, and his knee as Roxas grabs his head and jams it downwards a couple times.

Still, he blocks Roxas' next fist and manages to snap his foot into Roxas' side, but Roxas doesn't even react, and he sends Vanitas skipping across the street, like a stone on a water's surface.

Sora swallows and nods, standing with Maleek. Sora help the King with a shoulder while Maleek takes the lead and readies to guide them out of the alley. Axel pulls down his hood and tickles his fingers on the single syringe strapped to his waist. He eases his way towards the edge and peeks out in time to find Roxas block two daggers flying at his head, sent by Cloud.

"Go." He commands.

"Get ready to run." Maleek speaks.

Then he, Sora and the King and his men sprint from the alley, but Roxas doesn't pay them any heed as he approaches a crippled Vanitas struggling to his knees. He already has a bloodied nose, and bruises already forming all around his hairline and jaw. It streams down his neck and lips, into his mouth. He spits as Roxas takes a large carriage, fit for seating two, and yanks it up like it's nothing more than an empty barrel. Axel sprints for the boy as Roxas hurdles it across. Vanitas lifts his head in time to see Axel swoop in and grab him as the carriage crashes into the street, indenting the stone and spreading thin spiderweb fissures.

Vanitas still has enough sense to tuck in his legs as Axel sprints away from the sight. He wipes his nose and spit again before looking to Axel. "Keep him busy so I can take him from behind."

Axel nods and releases Vanitas, the assassin landing in a crouch. He turns his head to find Roxas sprinting for Cloud, but at the last minute, Roxas' hands reach out to grab his waist. He then slides around until he's behind Cloud, and lifts him. He _lifts_ Cloud up, and hurls him back, Roxas' spine bending once again into that uncomfortable and frankly backbreaking curve. He follows their momentum, careening himself over his father and when Roxas' back plants on the ground, he releases CLoud and his feet push him off until he's high into the air. Roxas finishes the roll slightly spinning on his hands so he lands face-forward.

With a powerful push of his legs, he leaps up and matches Cloud's height easily, flipping forward and slamming his heel into his back. Roxas dark cloak fans out like wings. Cloud hurdles towards the ground, landing face-first into the stone and bouncing off before sliding to a stop at the base of the stairs. Vanitas can see his nose is bleeding heavily and the tip is angled awkwardly. Now doubt it is broken.

Axel runs back around, pulling his two needle-point daggers free from his belt. He readies to throw one, but ends up using it to block as the blade of Farengar comes swiping for his face. Their metal scrapes against one another, and then Axel feels like a boulder slams into his stomach as Roxas hulks himself forward and they fly back with Axel's spine crashing into a brick wall, near a glass display window of a shop. It takes half of his strength to suppress the pain and scream of agony.

But before Roxas can deliver a face-crushing punch, Vanitas comes up and wraps his arms around Roxas' neck, coiling his legs around the Elven Assassin's waist. He grips as hard as he can and Roxas gives a small struggled breath. Axel presses himself into the wall, and brings his feet up in a harsh kick to Roxas' jaw that sends him and Vanitas flying back. Axel hurryingly follows; and he can see Rxoas taking slight advantage of their position as he locks his arms with Vanitas and body slams them both into the street.

Still, Axel readies his blunt weapon, raising it high to strike Roxas' skull, but as he brings it down for the blow, he sees Rxoas roll out and his weapons stops just inches from Vanitas' face. Axel, bewildered and breathless, steps back and Vanitas – bearing a face of surprise himself – simply stare at one another.

Then Roxas' foot swipes like a snake, knocking out Axel's feet. Axel barely hits the ground before Roxas' knees rams into his stomach and then he locks his hands together and whacks them at Axel's face like a mace. Pain crackles along his cheek, shattering his thoughts, and black dots fill his vision. Warmth dribbles down his chin and Axel knows his nose is bleeding. His back aches and throbs and the urge to vocalize the pain grows more.

He needs to make sure that Roxas doesn't sneak up on him on his left side, his eye being an enormous disadvantage. Axel goes flying and Roxas leaps after him. Axel still is conscious enough to bring up the blade of his sword to block Roxas next two punches which include daggers with sharpened tips. They dance across the street, each collision of metal sounds just as it did before, like the pounding of a war drum, echoing across the sky.

Roxas grabs Axel's wrist and brings his leg up to hug Axel's side then ramming his arm down; Axel feeling the pommel of Farengar's sword as it hits his collarbone. There's the brief sensation of flying and then he's met with the cobblestone once more.

Vanitas is already running for him, but stops, Axel looks upwards and quickly back rolls out of the way as Roxas comes crashing down, indenting into the street. Vanitas races after them once more. Axel throws all of his strength into swinging his blade, each blocked by Roxas vambraces, and then he reaches up and grabs Axel's blade barehanded.

Axel struggles to pry the weapon from Roxas' grip, but the boy has the thing in his hand like a vise. "Roxas." Axel grunts, his voice raw as his throat is dry as sandpaper. "Please. It's me! Axel!"

Roxas merely snarls and hisses. He harshly yanks back, drawing Axel forward and kicking him in the stomach once more. Axel goes hurdling back, releasing his weapon and slams into a street lamp. Axel bangs his head and starts to feel his hearing grow muffled. His eyes dance with colors, but he doesn't give his stomach the pause it needs as he whirls out of the way his sword comes flying seconds later. Axel tumbles to the ground and as he forces himself not to slow down, he look up to find Roxas bolting for him.

As Roxas stabs his dagger over Axel's shoulder, Axel grabs the assassin's wrist and careens him over. Roxas is sent flying through the glass display window of a furniture store, the glass shattering into diamond shaped pieces.

Vanitas finally catches up to Axel as he wobbles to his feet. "Whoa, nice move."

Axel turns to Vanitas, seeing the blood already dried on his face. He gives a weak smile. "That's all I got." He just finishes the sentence as he collapses to his knees and vomits.

Vanitas takes a few steps back, trying to suppress the bile rising in his throat as Axel convulses up saliva, bile and whatever contents of his last meal.

"You pity little bastards!" the voice rings out. Vanitas looks over his shoulder, dagger ready, and finds Tifa in her armor and her sword drawn. "You dare interfere with me and my plans?!"

"We're taking Roxas back, you bitch!" Vanitas shouts, Axel finally having enough strength to push to his feet.

"How dare you, you little –!" Tifa doesn't finish her sentence as she's tackled from the side and tumbling into the dirt. Her spine screams and her head throbs like a beating drum. They roll a couple times until the assassin has her pinned to the ground.

She opens her eyes and finds Cloud with a wicked smile on his lips. "Hello, my _love_." He purrs. The Guildmaster raises his arm, bringing forward the bloodied dagger, the blade gleaming crimson. He skillfully spins them between his fingers, as he readies the blade outward and ready to strike. "I think it's time we get reacquainted."

Tifa snarls and as Cloud brings down his dagger towards her eye, she moves her head, and uses her hand to set it aside before punching Cloud right in the jaw. She then grabs his head with her legs, delivering two punches before throwing her weight into a back roll, hauling Cloud over her. Cloud follows the momentum and is on his feet before he even finishes the roll.

He charges forward and pulls out his daggers this time. Tifa gives a slight gasp as Cloud flicks his arms out and five daggers all together spin rapidly out towards her, nothing more than blurs of steel. Immediately something in Tifa's head clicks and she brings her staff up, whirling it rapidly to deflect the daggers.

The moment she knocks away the last one, she looks up and finds Cloud high in the air, a long hunting knife in his raised hand, ready to strike. At the last second, Tifa brings her staff up and she hears the blade strike at the glass head. She hops back and as he goes to slash her, Tifa flips back then jabs the end of her weapon into the ground, spinning on it as Cloud hurdles past her, the steel whining.

As Tifa finishes her spin, Cloud is already there with more daggers between his fingers, and a long ebony sword. She continually spins her staff with dizzying speed as Cloud hurdles dagger after dagger before drawing another sword.

"_It's almost like old times_." He grimly hisses with a smile.

While keeping her attention on how her hands spin the staff, and how to position her feet, Tifa snarls and peruses herself forward, and Cloud allows it, taking timid steps back. She tries to keep track of where Roxas is. But it's easily drowned out by the ringing harsh scraping of metal.

Their weapons clash again and again as Vanitas and Axel ready themselves. Vanitas helps Axel as they hear loud rummaging through the broken window of the shop. Then Roxas comes flying through the window once more, a heavy-looking trunk in tow.

"Move!" Vanitas screams as he yanks Axel to the side. They barely miss the trunk, its contents spilling out across the now dented and messy street.

They tumble and roll and Axel can barely catch his breath before Roxas is already grabbing his throat and lifting him from the ground. Axel gasps for breath, his air already thin. He looks to Roxas, whose eyes are still thin slits, the blue and gold intimidatingly consuming. "Roxas." He gasps.

The Elven assassin merely smiles as he slams Axel into the street. The pain finally releases from Axel in a scream of bloodcurdling proportions. Roxas loosens his grip enough to allow Axel to scream, but then lifts him again and slamming him into a wall this time. The pain in Axle's head grows and he hers he might be bleeding from the inside as his vision blurs with red and black.

His entire faced feels torn, skinned, bloodied and bruised, but he still refuses to allow the pain to conquer as he tries to pry Roxas' stone-like hands from his neck. "Roxas." He tries. "Please."

Roxas turquoise eyes meet with Axel's before his other arm lashes out and connects with Axel's shoulder.

Axel hears the crack before he feel the pain, and he screams, dropping to his knees as his shoulder is dislocated. Roxas' foot meets with the shoulder, and Axel goes flying backwards, falling so hard that his shoulder relocates with a sickening crunch. The agony blinds him; the world goes in and out of focus. Things are so slow . . .

Vanitas comes up from behind and once again coils himself around Roxas' body, trying his best to headlock the Elven assassin. Roxas begins to buck and thrash like a horse as he goes to reach for Vanitas.

Tifa darts her eyes towards Roxas and gives a smile, and then shoots forward with a sweep of her staff. Steel slams into steel.

Her hands slip and her arms lower.

Right away she feels the hilt of Cloud's sword punch hard into her chest. Tifa gasps for air as she stumbles back, her hands slipping from her weapon.

"No.!"

As she tries to regain footing, she lifts her head and sees Cloud dig the tips of his blades into the ground and swing himself around, his leg flying. It connects with her jaw, sending a searing crackling pain across her face and spotting her vision. She is not given a moments rest as his fists connects with the same cheek. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth and streams along her jaw. As she tries to spit it out, she feels the other side of her face assaulted and she ends up biting her tongue. She tries to keep the tears from escaping her eyes, but she can't stop them as Cloud continually punches her. Left and right. Left and right. Left and then knee. Tifa grunts in pain, more tears and more blood spill from her nose and mouth and tongue.

Then Cloud grabs a fistful of her hair and throws all of his energy as he slams her head into a brick wall, aiming for the section of the forehead where there's a lobe of the brain housing simple function. A small blood spat splashes across the brick and she falls to the ground.

Meanwhile, Axel is forcing himself on his feet, ignoring the dizziness wafting his senses as he struggles to his feet. He sees Roxas jerkily turning in circles as he tries to yank Vanitas off, but Vanitas keeps out of his reach. Axel dizzily draws a throwing knife from his belt, but he knows he doesn't have the sense or the energy to keep fighting Roxas; not like this.

"_Keep going! The serum_!" Axle think to himself.

Somehow Roxas is already in front of Axel within the next blink and his arm twitches, connecting with his face. Axel's voice sounds in grunts as Roxas punches him up, right, left, right then spins and swings his leg through the air, connecting with Axel's temple. When Axel crumples to the ground, Roxas wrenches his arm free and elbows Vanitas straight in the dome once . . . twice, and when Vanitas can't hold on anymore, Roxas grabs his wrist and hauls him over. Vanitas howls as he hears his bones pop and the hard-packed cobblestone greets his side and burns his upper thigh.

Axel pushes to his feet and breaks into a sloppy run, but he can still see Roxas even as his vision expands to three. He swings his own leg through the air and it connects with Roxas' cheek. He whirls and uses the same leg to whack at the back of his dead, it hits, and then strike just under Roxas' chin. It connects again, and Roxas grunts in pain. The first sounds he's made since their battle had begun.

But Axel then feels Roxas grab his ankle, a couple popping sounds reaching his ear, and then he's swung off the ground and in a semicircle before he's sent flying back and rolling along the skipping on the ground. He flips over and over and over until he's stepped by another streetlight. Axel slides along the stone and finally coming to a stop, exhales and tears release from his eyes. He can't imagine what he must look like right now.

Every inch of his body throbs with absolute pain. He doesn't need a mirror to know he's covered in nasty bruises. His face throbs with every movement. Undoubtedly, he looks hideous. Everything hurts, and he's _so_ tired.

There's a crunching sound of stone, and footsteps approach. Axel's arms quiver as he pushes himself up to look at Roxas as he wields the sword of Farengar. He aims the tip at Axel's nose. He raises it above his head.

"Now, little one," he says, his voice deep and raspy. "Prepare to –"

"Now!" Axel screams, his body shaking.

Vanitas immediately jerks his head up, a blow dart tube in his mouth.

He blows and a small, bug-sized dart shoots for Roxas. He blocks this one, but he then feels a pinch in the side of his neck. He freezes, eyes widening.

Roxas immediately drops everything and grips his head. He starts to scream and thrashes against himself like before in the gardens. His skin seems to vibrate, blurring as his ears soften and stretch back and forth into points, his canines retracting like claws. His pupils stretch in and out, consuming and releasing the color.

Axel looks over to his right, and finds Cloud, bloodied and cut, but standing proud with another blow dart tube.

* * *

Roxas is lying on the ground – on the bottom of the world, on the bottom of hell.

He hasn't been able to do much since Demyx and Ventus had left him in the darkness of his mind. Roxas just lies there and stares up into the endless black of his own mind. Everything is hazy, a nix of ice and black water and strange light.

He tries to think of ways to move, ways to fight; like his father had done when he was young. The process of taking his fear and guilt and despair and twisting them into something new. Then the hate – the hate that had rebuilt him, the rage that had fueled him, smothering the memories he hurried in a grave within his heart and never let out.

He had become a monster.

That is why he cannot, shall not, go home.

Roxas clings to the ground. He can't let go. There is nothing beneath it, nowhere else to go, nowhere to outrun the misery.

He doesn't know how long he lies on the bottom of wherever this is, but eventually, the darkness starts up again, barely more than shadows of thought and malice that ripple within the void.

"_Roxas_." The darkness churns. Roxas squints his eyes. His ears twitch and there's a thin, high whistling invading his thoughts.

Roxas angles his head upwards.

Can it be? Is this really a savior coming to save him? The darkness seems to pause.

"_Roxas_!" the voice beckons, sounding like a whimper.

Then there is a scrape and crunch of shoes, then a small, smooth hand slides towards him. But it is not Axel or Ventus or Demyx who lay across from him, watching him with those sad turquoise eyes.

His cheek against the moss, the young man he had unknowingly feared – the Elven warrior with his elongated canines, unearthly beauty, and smooth porelain features – reaches a hand for him. "Get up." He says softly.

Roxas shakes his head.

The Elven warrior strains for him, bridging that rift in the foundation of the world. "Get up." A promise – a promise for a better life, a better world.

Roxas wants to flee from the warrior. He has seen it as nothing more than a weapon of mass destruction. A thing to be used as the conqueror for an army of the shadows. He is nothing more than a weapon to everyone. Everything. Then again, it is what he's good at. This man, this false warrior, is nothing but trouble. It would be better to just watch it die, then maybe he will be as useless as he feels. And then no one will want him. Not anymore.

"Get up." someone says beyond the young Elven warrior. Lexaeus, Lexaeus, standing just beyond where he can see, smiling faintly.

"Get up." says another voice – a woman's. Aerith.

"Get up." Two voices together – Demyx and Ventus, faces grave, but eyes bright. "Get up." They tell him gently.

One by one, like shadows emerging from the mist, they appear. The faces of the people he has loved with his heart of wildfire.

And then there is a figure, his faces obscured by shadows, but shadows that aren't intimidating. He is tall with silver hair, and Roxas knows he is smiling. "Get up." He whispers, his voice full of that hope for the world, and for the boy he will never see again. Roxas doesn't remember knowing him, but at the same time,

A tremor in the darkness.

Roxas look up once more and can see a peephole of light immediately poke through the darkness. Golden light, beautiful, sparkling streaming light stretches across the darkness, stretching as far as the blackness itself.

"Roxas, please, it's me. It's Axel!" Roxas hears Axel's voice beg.

"Axel." Roxas whimpers, his voice scraping against his throat.

The Elven warrior still lies before him, hand still reaching.

Roxas looks at the warrior's face – the face that he can wear – and at the man's outstretched hand, so small and unscarred. The darkness flickers.

There is solid ground beneath him. Stone and dirt. Not hell – earth. The earth of which his kingdom lies, green and mountainous and as unyielding as his people.

He will not let his light go out.

He has to trust himself, trust his instincts; which could be of what the Elven warriors represents. It will not take a monster to destroy a monster – but light, light to drive out darkness.

He must fight.

The Elven warrior smiles at him, hand still outstretched. "Get up." The warriors says.

Roxas reaches across the earth between them and brushes his fingers against the Elven warrior's.

And rises.


	40. Chapter 39

Vanitas hauls Axel to his knees, fully aware of Cloud and Tifa still clashing their blades together. Axel had nearly passed out as Roxas stood over him with his blade ready to chop his head off. Roxas had dropped to his hands and knees in a disturbing calm. Once Cloud had fired the dart containing the serum to break Roxas' Elven form, Tifa had launched herself at him. But the Guild Master held true, meeting her blades easily and evading each deathblow she tried to deliver.

As Vanitas manages to lift Axel to his feet, the captain flutters his eyes open. His feet steady themselves and Vanitas is quickly whispering arcane words of healing and slowly Axel takes a deep breath, feeling his muscles heal and have little strength regain into them. Blood trickles in streams down his arms, over his tattoos.

Once Axel can stand on his feet, he holds his head and gathers himself as he looks to Roxas. The viscous warrior is now curled into himself, his body frighteningly still. He is on his knees and his forearms and his back is arch high like a terrified cat. His hair is that still unfamiliar brown, and it sticks to his forehead. Even from the side view, Axel can see Roxas' ears turning red.

Axel carefully eases off of Vanitas and approaches the assassin. "Axel." Vanitas croons. Axel holds up his hand, and glances over his shoulder with a faint nod. He carefully stalks to Roxas, whose breathing now mimics like a dragon; deep, heavy and laced with a growl.

"Roxas." Axel softly whispers. He sees Roxas' ear twitch, still pointed and tipped with red. A low growl, like a growl from the back of his throat, slowly hums along his bones.

Roxas can hear Axel's voice. He tries to focus his energy, but the screams of the darkness are overbearing, and that high-pitched whistling it positively irritating!

_Breathe. Breathe._

And there it is, rising up, wildfire crackling in his veins, in his fingertips, the buildings around them so much kindling, and then –

"Roxas."

He shoves back. Takes the fear and uses it like a battering ram inside himself, against the power, shoving it down, down.

Axel prowls closer. "Let it out."

Roxas' head jerks up to Axel, and he can see the gold in Roxas' eyes have turned into a raging flame. "Axel." He whimpers. Roxas' many other cloaks start to billow up along with his hair, haloing his head and the cloaks rippling like ebony waves.

But all Axel can see is the black pupil of Roxas' eyes. His _human_ eyes. But his ears are still pointed, and the canines still sharp.

"Don't fight it."

A pulse beats against Roxas, nipping, smelling of snow and pine. An outside power, taunting Roxas'. Not like his fire, but a gift of ice and wind. A freezing zap at his elbow has Roxas scrambling back from the pirate captain. The magic bites his cheek now. Magic – attacking Roxas.

The wildfire explodes in a wall of silver flame.

Roxas gasps heavily for air. As he clutches his neck as if he can claw open an airway for himself, Axel's boots appear in his field of vision. "Get back." Roxas snarls, but his tone is a plea of fear.

"I'm not leaving you." His crimson hair contrasts with the silver of Roxas' flames, but they ripple and sway as if they are an amber of themselves. Like Axel is his own light.

The fire speeds around Axel, around Vanitas, rushing for his parents, engulfing the buildings, the world, Roxas, until –

It vanishes, sucked out into nothing, along with the air he is breathing. He stumbles but does not fall as another violent tremor seizes the ground. ,

Roxas' air is pulled out – suffocating his fire. Such power, such control. This isn't Axel; this isn't his father, nor Vanitas, nor his mother. This is someone with power capable of smothering his fire, someone who won't mind doing it should Roxas become a threat.

Air rushes down Roxas' throat in a whoosh. He gasps it down in greedy gulps, hardly registering the agony as he shifts back into his mortal form, the world going quiet and dull again.

Axel lowers his forearms from his face, peering down at Roxas. His blood pumps with every beat of his heart and the world seems to slow. He takes a step closer.

Roxas lifts his head. His eyes are calm, round, and his circular pupils grow wide, and soon fill with tears. "Axel."

The name has barely left his lips as he's suddenly coiled in arms and he feels Axel's body press against him, smoothing him as his face is pressed into Axel's shoulder. Still, Roxas' arms wrap around Axel and he doesn't stop the sobs that erupt from his body. They come out like miserable screams, and they echo throughout the streets. The smell of charred stone reaches his nose, but it's still smothered by the smell of Axel's sweat.

"Thank the gods. Thank the _blessed gods_!"

"I'm sorry." Roxas wails. "I'm so sorry!"

Warmth drips onto Roxas' shoulder and Axel's body shudders as he keeps Roxas pressed to him. Still it feels like there's an endless amount of space between them that he can't breach. But he's back.

Roxas is back.

Roxas pulls back and through his watery eyes does he see the damage done to Axel's body – that _he _had done. "Oh gods." He breathes. Some of them seem sloppily healed, but the bruising is still just as cruel as it blooms across Axel's face and down his neck like wilted roses. Axel looks to Roxas and the assassin could've sworn that color had flooded into Axel's eyes, brightening the green of his eye, even his blinded left eye seems to grow brighter.

"No!" a shrill scream erupts. Roxas and Axel pull themselves to their feet and look over to find Cloud pushing himself to his knees. His face is bleeding. Tifa had gouged four lines across his cheek with her nails.

Cloud coldly chuckles. "How does it feel, my dear? Losing the best thing that has happened to you?"

Tifa jerks her head, her lip snarling like a wild animal. "You, you did this!" Tifa goes to strike Cloud, and still he smiles as she swings her sword angrily towards his head. He dodges with maddening ease and dances his way around.

Vanitas rushes over towards Roxas and Axel, immediately grabbing both of their arms and launching them into a full sprint. "We've got to go!" he shouts.

"Dad!" Roxas cries out as he looks over his shoulder.

"He'll be fine. We have to help Maleek and the others!"

Axel wordlessly follows, keeping his hand interlocked with Roxas' as they follow Vanitas' intended path. With a final glance over his shoulder, seeing his father easily dodging his mother's anger driven slashes, Roxas submits and lets Vanitas push him towards the front of town. He manages to kick up a shield from a dead body of a guard, and sling it over his back with his unused bow he didn't realize he had. The sword of Luchel slaps against his waist.

They pass a couple of Guild members facing against Faceless assassins, and Roxas can see the blur of blue hair and dark blue cloaks. Seifer and Saix. For a moment, Roxas slows his speed, assessing them, and how bloodied they are, and the Faceless fighting against them.

"_Go_." Saix hisses.

The place is a hell of yelling and fighting and gore, but Roxas can immediately spot the multitude of cloaks fighting alongside a wave of purple. A long row of twenty Faceless are dead at line of blood, and with the Guild Masters and the city's guards working together, the Faceless seem to waiver. Roxas' eyes scan the crowd and they settle on the person he was hoping to find.

"Maleek!" Roxas shouts. The beautiful blonde assassin just kicks aside another Faceless coming for him when he turns towards Roxas. His eyes widen and a smile spreads wide across his teeth. Disbelief and uncontrollable happiness flood into Maleek's eyes

The shouting and fighting grows louder. Pain and death and terror. Three Faceless members spot them, and though Axel goes to reach for his sword, Roxas' hand gives a small tug backwards and Axel automatically slows into a jog as he watches Roxas draw his sword and another one, a rapier with a bejeweled hilt, and charges for the members. Flicking his head to the side, he finds Sora sheltered inside an abandoned fabric store, the King is nowhere to be seen. Hopefully he's either back at the palace, or somewhere close by where he can still control his men.

Even with his Elven skills diminished, he still shows an intimidating threat. As one goes to punch him, he sidesteps and spins his blade out, jabbing the pommel into the first member's ribcage, slapping her against the ground. The second one leaps into the air with a broadsword ready to strike, and Roxas leaps back and pulls out his grappling hook. As he dodges the second assassin's sword, he ties it into a loop and tightens it around her neck. She's not given the time to grab it before Roxas yanks his arm to the left in a whiplash jerk and the assassin is whipped through the air and into a second-floor window of another shop.

"Holy . . ." Leon breathes as Axel and Vanitas hurry up to him.

As more flood towards Roxas, still with the rope in his hand and attached to the not dead assassin, he whips it out again and sends the group scattering like bugs as the body whacks into them. They collapse into the street and Roxas sprints there in five strides. He slices one assassin across the chest, and ducks under another one aiming her sickle at his neck and slicing the bone in her leg. He then jumps into the air, flipping the blade of his sword outward and jamming it through her skull. Quick as lightning, he vaults over a third assassin and slices at her sternum, spilling her intestines onto the street.

"It's good to be back in the heat of battle." Roxas smiles. Blood soaks his uniform once more, but this time, it's disturbingly less intimidating. "Leave them to me."

Maleek jogs up to the gathering group as Roxas spins the sword of Farengar and charges into the throng. The boy single-handedly drives the assassins back and away as his sword cuts through skin and steel like butter. He flips back and away like his body curling around sword strikes as if his bones are made of water.

He takes out each Faceless assassin that challenges any of his Guild members, and slowly each of the Masters, as well as members are left with no opponent. Though they still flood through the gates, and though some of them are already snaking their way around the streets, those on the front lines are cut down like wheat grass. Roxas whips out his grapple hook again, better description of a lasso, and coils one around the neck, whirling her in the air around his head like a yoyo toy, crashing her into four more whether they were facing against him or not.

Terra and Cid join the group sheathing their weapons they confident, or even _comfortable_ enough to lower their guard with Roxas taking the lead. Roxas hops over another one, placing his foot on her back and hurling her to the ground and then pushing off high into the air.

It's just like when Axel first laid eyes on the young assassin, nearly a year ago now, back when he was eighteen. Back when they were complete strangers and he watched the boy slaughter citizens after a riot he and his men had caused.

He knocks swords aside, dances between thrusts, and slashes throat after throat. Bodies pile at his feet, and he needs no help. After the first few, the mercenaries have to climbs over their bodies to reach him. That momentary loss of solid footing is all it takes for the young master swordsman. He nimbly leaps over bodies and stabs a soldier in the back and then shouts to the rest.

Roxas is not drained, not in the least. He had fought for longer and in worse conditions. He yanks his sword from the gut of a falling Faceless, the blade already slicing across the neck of another. The hilt of his sword is warm – comforting – in his hand, and the blue sapphire stone glows as if with a fire of its own.

Still, as his men gather one by one as Roxas greedily faces off against multiple opponents, they are not given rest; not as Leon's eyes flick upwards, widen and he screams. "Hit the deck!"

Everyone drops to the bloodstained cobblestone, but not before an arrow pierces into Axel's shoulder, the same shoulder that Roxas had dislocated and relocated. His scream fills the air as he drops to his knees.

Immediately, Roxas jerks his head as he yanks his bloodied blade free and turns to find Axel on the ground, tears in his eyes as an arrow pokes out from his back. Anger boils in his well of power, but he doesn't dare shift into his Elven form. He looks up to find Tifa standing ten yards from them, bloodied and a psychotic gleam in her eyes, with a handheld crossbow in her hand. She creepily grins too wide and reloads.

Roxas nearly howls as he lassos another member and hurls the body at her, Tifa draws her own flaming sword and slices through the body in two. He lands on a toppled carriage, making it collapse in on itself and pushes off landing three yards from his mother. The fact that she's hear makes his gut twinge with worry about his father.

Tifa maniacally cackles, tilting her head up to the sky as she keeps that disturbing, too-wide smile on her face. She then bolts into a run and when Roxas swipes, she dodges last minute and Roxas hears her intake of breath before he catches the flash of metal.

He had his mother disabled and on the blood-puddled street in a heartbeat – but not fast enough to avoid the sting of Tifa's dagger slicing into his forearm. The yards of fabric that make up his multiple cloaks are cumbersome as he pins Tifa to the cobblestone, a thin line of blood welling up and trickling down his bare arm.

"I'm not going to give you up so easily, _sweetheart_!" she cackles. She surges up trying to dislodge Roxas. Roxas slams his weight into her, lifting his hand to deliver the blow.

Then she chuckles softly. "Don't you want to know what was on that blade?"

Roxas could have ripped her face off with his fingernails for the silken smile she gave him. In a smooth, swift movement, Roxas snatches up her dagger and sniffs.

He'd never forget that musky smell, not in a thousand lifetimes: hareraiser, a mild poison that causes hours of paralysis. It has been used on him the night he had crashed into a royal council meeting and captured; the poison knocking him down, to make him helpless to fight back as he was handed over to the King's men and thrown into the royal dungeons. Once he was rescued, he was forced to stay in bed for days while Zexion cleansed the poison from his body.

Tifa's smile is triumphant. "Just enough to knock you out while I cut down your precious little captain lover!"

"_Bitch_!"

How much had he been exposed to? The cut is shallow and short. But he knew the hareraiser is already racing through him. He needs to go. _Now_.

Roxas shifts his free hand to knock Tifa out, but his fingers feel disconnected. There has to be a way to counteract the poison . . . something . . .

His Elven form.

_Arrogant bitch_!

Of course she would poison him, if Roxas was to shift into his Elven form, it'll defect the poison easily, and he'll have a large advantage over her. But at the same time, she will easily take advantage of that single moment and he'll be back under her control once more. He won't give her that opportunity. In a too-fast movement she grabs his wrists, twisting Roxas to the ground. Roxas slams into a cold puddle of blood, clenching his teeth hard enough to crack as he feels the substance stain his hair and tickle along his scalp. The impact is so hard the air is knocked from his lungs, his head spins, and he loses his grip on the dagger. The hareraiser is acting fast – too fast. He has to get out.

He feels Tifa's weight lift from him, and there's the sound of a scuffle. A bolt of panic goes through him, pure and undiluted. His confounded cloaks get in the way, but he focuses what little control remains.

"Roxas!" All heads turn to find Cloud, alive, running for the group of guildmembers. He doesn't seem as bloody as he does bruised, and his run as a slight limp in it, revealing a gash on his calf. Terra meets Cloud halfway and helps him over to the group.

Tifa charges straight for Axel, batting aside other members that get in her way. As he struggles to his feet, her small arrow still lodged in his back. One simple kicks will protrude it right through to the other side, through his heart. She raises her hand wielding the poisoned dagger. Axel's body has healed enough that he can still fight, but he makes note of his left eye and the arrow in his back.

When Tifa goes to strike, Axel grabs her wrist. Her movements seem so slow compared to the swift and merciless motions of Roxas' Elven form. But she's still a Guild Master, as proven when Axel goes to punch her, and she easily smacks his hand away. Sidestepping her next slash, Axel's fist hits its mark on Tifa's deeply bruised and blood-crusted jaw. But she immediately whirls with the momentum, her leg coming up and whacking Axel in the neck.

"Axel!" Sora shouts.

Remembering his training, Axel takes the blow, pushing the pain down and into his fists. He grabs Tifa's wrist and spins her into a choker, but her thumb twitches on the hilt of her dagger and the pommel suddenly snaps up, jabbing Axel straight into his forehead. The dagger extends into her staff and she slams it into Axel's head. Axel's thrown into the side of another toppled carriage and even before his knees crumple to the ground, Tifa grabs a handful of his hair and hurls him down the long avenue. Axel flips over and over himself, sliding at a skin-burning speed before crashing hard enough into the glass of a shop, the glass crackling like ice.

The pain that comes is enough to make Axel's head spin and knees buckle. His back is killing him, the bruises throb with every beat of his hear, blood roaring in his ears. But Axel still draws his own dagger even as Tifa approaches spinning her own between her fingers.

Roxas sees the battle and knows enough that Axel is trying to give him a chance, and so Roxas reluctantly takes it. Though every instinct screams against it, Roxas closes his eyes. Takes a breath. Then another. His lungs open, full of cool, soothing air, and he wonders if someone is helping with that.

He lets the anger anchor him, a knife slicing past the usual hesitation and doubt and emptiness.

He brushes up against that familiar inner wall – no, a veil, shimmering with a soft light. All this time he thought he'd been reaching _down_ for the power, but this is more of a reach _in_. Not a wish, but a command. He will shift – because there is a creature prowling towards his lover, and it deserves to pay. With a silent growl, he punches himself through the veil, pain shooting along every inch and pore as he shifts.

Immediately he can hear each footstep and each whoosh of air from the dagger. His body starts to feel lighter and his insides cramp as his Elven blood easily kills off the dizziness and the spazzing of his muscles from the poison.

Axel manages to block each of Tifa's striking hands aiming for his chest, but when he manages to disarm her and goes to swing, she blocks it with her forearm, though she bares no vambraces. Still, she slides her arm along the staff, opening up a cut deep enough to slice muscle, but she doesn't seem to notice the pain, or doesn't care.

She grabs the staff and punches Axel hard enough to send him sliding along the stone. Axel manages to avoid letting the part of his back with the small arrow hit the ground and swing his legs up to plant them onto the stone.

But the moment he looks up, all he sees is a flash of steel hurdling towards him. The dagger soars, turning relentlessly. The black street pass beneath in a blur, closing the distance. A sliver of pointed darkness edged with green. A quick, bloody death.

The whole world seems to slow down. Slow enough that Axel can see the dagger pierce his chest; slow enough that Axel can see a stream of blood arc into the air. He barely registers the brick wall slam into his back, losing all the air in his lungs. Colors flood his vision: red, blue, green, yellow. His head slams into the brick, there's a crackle sound reaching his ears and black dots swarm his vision.

The dagger had pushed out the arrow in his back, the blood-coated hilt splashing to the floor and the dagger piercing through the other half.

Blackness narrows his vision into nothing.

Axel's body grows limp and slides to the ground; a smear of blood painted down the wall.

His head hangs forward. Eyes closed.

"_NO_!"

Vanitas is already there, yanking the dagger out and Zexion is at his side. Maleek helps Vanitas hold Axel's body up, their faces grave and pale.

A rumbling shakes the earth, and they freeze. Beneath them some huge power is surging – a behemoth rising from the deep.

They turn towards the darkened street. And Vanitas could've sworn that a golden light arched through it, then disappears.

Tifa triumphantly cackles, her fingers clawed and twitching and her arms pressed to her sides. Her hair, once clean and sleek, is not slightly tangled and falls over half of her face.

Vanitas doesn't dare blink.

Flame erupts from the darkness.

The fire unfurls, filling the twilight sky, silver opal. Maleek swears, and Terra has his sword drawn. Vanitas doesn't bother doing anything.

The flame doesn't singe a single hair on anyone's head. It flows above and past them, glorious and immortal and unbreakable.

And there, beyond the stones, standing beyond his mother, is Roxas, a strange mark glowing on his brow. His hair flows around him, bright like his fire. And his eyes – though they are red-rimmed, the gold in his eyes is a living flame.

Two surviving Faceless assassins lunge for him, their shadows sweeping in around them.

Cloud runs all of one step before Roxas flings out his arms, grabbing the assassins by their faces – his palms over their open mouths as he exhales sharply.

As if he'd breathed fire into their cores, silver flames shoot out of their eyes, their ears, their fingers. The two assassins don't have a chance to scream as Roxas burns them to cinders.

He lowers his arms. His magic is raging so fiercely that the stones beneath his feet glow a warm cerulean blue. A weapon bright from foraging.

The silver and green and blue flames utterly his, this heir of fire. His flames crawl up the walls of all the buildings and slither along the roads, enveloping everything: dead bodies, shattered and scattered wood, devouring everything like coals to a fire.

Everyone stares at the assassin as his ears are angled down and his lips contort into a snarl that turns into a roar.

"Roxas!" Maleek shouts.

Roxas turns his head to them. They stare in mute horror as Roxas' eyes glow a deep, raging blue.

This . . . this had to be his true power. The power that Tifa was trying to unleashes to begin with. What had happened in the garden . . . that was only a slice of what capability Roxas had.

There is strength in his face that is achingly beautiful. But there is exhaustion in that snarl, and his bright magic flickers. As a rogue stream of flame shoots across the stone and towards Tifa, Roxas sways slightly, his skin deathly pale.

The flames rise higher, and the shouts – of fright and pain – rise with them. The flames will hurt anyone and everyone unless he wills it. Everything burns strong and deadly.

"You ruined me. I plan to return the favor." His voice reverberates through the entire town.

Tifa cackles, more quietly this time. "You want me, hon? Come and get me!" Then she steps into the shadows and vanishes.

The flames that devour the town rise, as Roxas grits his teeth. They fill every crevice, every window and every building. Though their part of the town was safely evacuated, still their screams echo as an apartment building's upper most level explodes outwards and the roof collapses in on itself. The bricks on the exterior fall like rain and shower. The guild members shield themselves with their cloaks, arms and each other as a gale whips past them with stone, dirt and debris.

"_Roxas_!" someone screams.

Spying them at last, Roxas' eyebrows furrow into worry as he sees Vanitas and the others crowded around Axel, blocking their eyes from the flames.

Then, as if sucked in through a vortex, the flames vanish leaving behind burn marks and a slight hiss like a pit of vipers. Twilight Town is plunged into darkness. The stone dies down, but turns black and crevices as Roxas walks his way through to the group, his gait mimicking that of a drunkard. He shifts back into his mortal form, barely registering the pain. Maleek is already there, holding him up as Roxas collapses in front of Axel's body.

_Axel_ . . .

Tears immediately well in Roxas' eyes and he can feel himself collapse. "Is he –?" his throat closes and Roxas ends up coughing as a sob wrecks his body. No one comforts him, probably afraid he's burn them upon touch.

Zexion's hands flutter around Axel's wounds and his two fingers press into the side of Axel's neck. Roxas sees Zexion's shoulders slack, and he sighs. For a split second, Roxas is ready to set the town ablaze, until Zexion smiles faintly. "No."

Quickly Zexion's face changes from fear and worry to a seriousness that Roxas has seen him melt into when he would be working on members of the Guild. "I'll need to extract the poison and then I need something to cauterize the wound."

Without thinking, Roxas' teeth shape and he rips open Axel's tunic to reveal the small circular hole in his chest. Immense, pleasantly crushing relief floods his veins as he sees his mother had missed his heart by mere inches.

"Roxas . . .!" Zexion chirps.

But Roxas is already leaning into Axel's chest, lowering his mouth to the skin. For a heartbeat, something lightning-bright snaps through him and settles – a thread binding them, tighter and tighter with each pull Roxas takes of Axel's blood. It takes like sour berry juice, enough to make Roxas' nose wrinkle in disgust.

Zexion stares, mouth agape and eyes wide, and then he quickly snaps out of it and his eyes glow a gentle green, his one hand on Axel's forearm. He hears Axel's heartbeat in his head and can picture the substance of the poison clearing from his bloodstream. Three mouthfuls – Roxas' canines prickling against Axel's skin – and then Roxas lifts his head, his lips shining with Axel's blood, his eyes glittering and alive and full of steel.

Roxas gathers a mouthful of saliva and blood and spits it onto the street. "He's clean."

"Wow." Zexion breathes. And already his hands are fumbling for some alcohol and some gauze.

"Can you work on the go? We need to hurry to the docks. The ship is waiting for us." Vanitas says.

But Roxas looks down the street, to the avenue where Tifa had fled. Had it only been minutes ago? It feels like a lifetime.

But if it had only been minutes . . . Roxas' breathing stumbles. After what she'd done to Axel, after betraying Roxas and controlling his mind; molding him into a killing machine and exploiting his weaknesses . . . Exhaustion is replaced with a familiar anger – anger that burns through everything, just as Tifa had destroyed what he loved.

Vanitas steps into Roxas' path. "Don't even think –"

Panting, Roxas sheathes the sword of Luchel. "_She's mine_."

Before Vanitas can grab him, Roxas hurtles down the street.

Though his Elven senses are extinguished, Roxas could swear he still smells his mother's perfume as he moves towards a winding road, still smell the blood on her.

She had destroyed _everything_. She had kidnapped his father, butchered Lexaeus and Hunter, poisoned Roxas just to use him to flatten an entire town, perhaps an entire culture, all in the name of power and revenge . . .

He will take her apart. Slowly.

_I knew you had it in you_, she said. No, she didn't. She has _no_ idea what sort of darkness lurks inside him, or what sort of monster he is willing to become in order to make things right.

The world becomes foggy around the edges as he walks. Roxas takes a deep breath and shakes his head, trying to clear his blurry vision. Perhaps his Elven trait hadn't fully eradicated the poison in his body, whether it was his or Axel's; but he can still fight.

He senses her a heartbeat before she attacks from behind.

Roxas meets her sword with his own and his dagger, both weapons raised above his head, darting back to give himself time to assess. Tifa still holds that disturbing smile, coming after Roxas again and again.

He is exhausted. Tifa is full of maniac strength. Her nose is bleeding, and Roxas can see lines of fingernail scrapes in her cheeks, on the side of her throat, turning red with blossoming blood. Her hair is disheveled, her hands trembling. His blows make her arms quake, though.

The controlled, put together woman he had seen when he first arrived at the castle, she is gone. She swipes for his throat, but Roxas ducks, slicing for her side. Swift as lightning, she leaps to avoid him gutting her.

"You're a psychopath." Roxas hisses.

"I prefer, creative."

Nausea flashes through Roxas as his muscles flex. The world is still hazy. He clenches his teeth, blinking. She was like a machine; she was cold and emotionless, bound by power alone. And he broke her.

He broke her.

Still, Tifa charges faster than he anticipated. He catches her sword on his own blade, avoiding the sharp edges, and leaps back as he hears the steel whine.

She strikes so quickly that Roxas has to concede to the edge of her blade. It presses deep into his own blade. Roxas' arms ache on the impact. Before he can recover, Tifa yanks her sword form his weapon and surges towards Roxas. He can only bound back, deflecting the blow with the tip of his sword. His blood feels slow and thick, and his head spins. The nausea will not ease.

Grunting, Roxas pulls away with an effort of skill and force. If the poison is still in his veins, he needs to end this as quickly as possible. It is not a showcase of his abilities, especially if Tifa's goal was to get Roxas to shift once more.

Switching onto the offensive, Roxas nimbly sweeps towards her. She parries Roxas' attack with a brush of her blade. He brings his sword down upon her own, sparks flying into the air.

Roxas' heart pounds in his ears, and the sound of steel against steel becomes almost unbearable. Things are slowing down.

Roxas attacks – faster and faster, stronger and stronger. Tifa laughs, and Roxas almost screams in anger. Each time he moves a foot to trip her, each time they come too close, he either becomes clumsy or she steps away, as if she knew what he planned all along. Roxas has the infuriating feeling that she is toying with him, that there is some joke that he doesn't understand.

Roxas whips the sword through the air, hoping to catch her upon her unprotected neck. But she deflects, and though he spins and tries to knock her in her stomach, she blocks him again.

"Not feeling well?" she says, showing her white gleaming teeth. "Perhaps you shouldn't have been holding back all those –"

_WHAM_!

Roxas grins as the shaft of his sword slams into her side. She screams and bends over, and Roxas' leg lashes out and sweeps Tifa off her feet, sending her crashing to the ground. Roxas raises the sword of Luchel, but a sick feeling rushes through him so powerful that his muscles slackened. He has no strength.

Tifa knocks aside Roxas' blow as if it is nothing, and Roxas retreats while she rises. And that is when he hears the laugh – soft, feminine, and vicious. Roxas' feet stumbles, but he stays upright as he dares look at his mother. Her eyes are wide, her irises bathing in the white, and her pupils no more than pinpricks of black. And that's when he remembers the other side effects of hareraiser. At best, it causes hallucinations and disorientation. At worst . . .

Roxas has difficulty holding his sword. Tifa comes at him, and he has no choice but to meet her blows, barely having the strength to raise the weapon each time. Even if _his_ dosage was small, he had sucked out Axel's, which was the entire dagger. The blade cracks and splinters, and groans. He still has enough in his bloodstream to disorient him, but not enough that it'll be easy to prove. He can't focus, hid body becomes hot and cold. Tifa is so fast – she is like a dragon, and her blows . . . they make his father seem like a child . . .

"Tired already?" she asks. "It's a pity all that yapping didn't amount to much."

Roxas snarls and lunges. She steps aside, and his eyes go wide as he hits nothing but air, air, air, until –

Tifa slams her fist into his spine, and he only sees the blur of the slate tiles before they collide with his face.

"Pathetic." She says, her shadow falling over Roxas as he flips onto his back, scrambling away before he can get closer. He can taste the blood in his mouth. This can't be happening – he can't die like this. Not when he's so close to freedom of his town. A bittersweet freedom, but freedom nonetheless. "If you switched into your Elven form, maybe you'd stand a chance."

"Fuck you." Roxas spits. He will not give her the pleasure of watching him become the weapon she wants him to be. He will not expose his Elven form to her again. His breath comes fast and hard, and his knees ache as he stumbles upright, charging at her. Too fast for him to block, she grabs Roxas by the collar of his shirt and hurls him back. He keeps upright as he trips, and stops a few feet in front of her.

Tifa circles him, swinging his sword idly. Her eyes are dark – dark like that portal to that other world. He is drawing out the inevitable, a predator playing with its meal before eating it. He wants to enjoy every moment.

He has to end this now, before the hallucinations start. He knew they'd be powerful: seers had once used hareraiser as a drug to view spirits from other worlds. Roxas shoots forward with a sweep of the sword. Steel slams into steel.

Roxas' blade snaps in two.

The blade and point soar to the other side of the street, leaving Roxas with grip and fuller. Tifa's black eyes met his with for a moment before her other arm lashes out and connects with his shoulder.

Roxas screams as his shoulder is dislocated. He remembers this; he did this to Axel. And the memory repeats itself as Tifa's foot meets with the shoulder, and he is flying backward, falling so hard that his shoulder relocates itself. Black dots speckle around the edges of his eyes. Things are too slow.

Tifa grabs the collar of Roxas' shirt and pulls him to his feet. He staggers back out of her grip, the ground rushing beneath him, and then falls – hard.

Roxas raises the shaft of the broken sword with his left hand; the sapphire gem still gleams in the middle of the guard. Tifa, panting and grinning, approaches.

Maleek clenches his teeth. The poison is still in effect. And it's effecting him terribly. He'd known from the moment the fight started, and began sweating when Roxas had the opportunity to bestow a winning blow and failed to deliver it. But now . . .

Maleek couldn't watch as Tifa kicked his shoulder, and felt as if he'd vomit when the Mistress picked Roxas up and he fell to the ground. Roxas keeps wiping his eyes, and sweat shines on his forehead.

Vanitas hisses, and Maleek almost cries out as Roxas attempts to stand, but collapses. The two assassins ran after Roxas once Zexion had healed Axel enough to deem it safe to carry him to the docks not too far from their position. They found Roxas within minutes after he had begun the fight with his mother, but they didn't bother to intervene. Sometimes even assassins knew when to stay out of a battle. But Tifa is teasing him – breaking not only his body, but his will . . . they has to stop it.

Tifa raises her sword at Roxas, who throws himself backwards – but not fast enough. He yelp as the blade slices across his thigh, clothing and flesh ripping. Blood colors his pants. Despite it, he stands again, his face set in defiant rage.

They have to help him. But if they interfere, Tifa could easily just use them for leverage. And it is somewhat of a miracle that Roxas hasn't collapsed from exhaustion yet after that raging fire he had unleashed at the peak of his Elven power. So they watch, in growing horror and despair, as Tifa's fist slams into Roxas' jaw.

Roxas' knees twist and he falls.

Something in Vanitas begins fraying as Roxas raises his bloodied face to look at his mother.

"I expected better." Tifa says as Roxas crawls into a kneeling position, still clutching at his useless sword. He pant through his teeth, blood leaking from his lip. Tifa studies his face as if he can read it, as if he can her something Vanitas nor Maleek can't. "And what would Lexaeus say?"

An expression flashes across Roxas' eyes that border one hear and confusion. "Shut your mouth." He says, his words trembling as he fights the pain of his wounds.

But Tifa keeps staring at him, her smile growing. "It's all there," she says. "Right under that wall you built on top of it. I can see it clear as day."

Tifa lifts her sword and runs her finger along the blood – Roxas' blood. Maleek reins in her disgust and anger.

Tifa lets out a breathy laugh. "What was it like to watch your companions die by your hand, covered in their blood?"

"Shut your mouth!" Roxas says again, his free hand clawing at the ground, his face twists with rage and anguish. The wound Tifa is touching, it burns.

"Ventus was a cute little thing, wasn't he?" Tifa says.

"_Be quiet_!" Roxas tries to surge to his feet, but his injured leg keeps him down. He gasps for breath. Vanitas and Maleek's hearts pound wildly, but they can do nothing to help him. No matter what Roxas is going through, he wants this to be his fight.

Roxas lets out a wordless scream that shatters though the frozen wind as he scrambles to his feet. His pain lost in his fury, he swings at her blade with the remnant of Luchel's sword.

"Good." Tifa pants, pressing his sword so hard that her blade sinks into the remaining steel. "But not good enough." Tifa shoves him, and as Roxas staggers back a step, she brings her leg up and kicks Roxas in the ribs. He goes flying.

The two assassins have never seen anyone strike that hard. Roxas hits the ground and flips, over and over and over, until he slams into the citrine clock tower. Roxas' head whacks against the orange stone, and Vanitas bites down his yell, forcing himself to remain in the shadows, forcing himself to watch as Tifa breaks Roxas apart, piece by piece.

Roxas trembles as he raises himself to his knees, clutching his side. He still holds on to the remnant of the sword of Luchel, as if it is a rock in the middle of a violent sea.

Roxas tastes blood as Tifa seizes him again, dragging him across the ground. He doesn't try to fight her. She could have pointed her sword at his heart at any point. This isn't a duel – it is an execution. And no one is doing anything to stop it. The sunlight flickers, and Roxas thrashes in Tifa's grip, despite the agony shooting through his body.

All around him are whispering, laughing, otherworldly voices. They call to him – but a different name, a dangerous name . . .

He glances skyward, seeing the tip of Tifa's chin before she hoists Roxas onto his feet and slams him – face first – into a wall of freezing, smooth stone. He in enveloped in familiar darkness. It began with a whisper, and more whispers joined it until it is a deafening wave of sound. His skull aches with the impact, but Roxas' cry of pain is cut short as he opens his eyes to the dark and sees what appears. Something – something dead stands before him.

It is a man, his skin pale and rotting. His eyes burn red, and he points at him in a broken, stiff way. His teeth are all sharp and so long they barely fit into his mouth. Where has the world gone? The hallucinations must be starting. Light flashes as he is yanked back, and his eyes bulge as Tifa throws him to the ground near the edge of the road.

A shadow passes across the sun. it is over. He will die now – die, or lose and be forever banished into the Abyss, under the control of his mother. It is over. Over.

Two black boots come into view, then a pair of knees as someone crouches on the edge of the sidewalk.

"Get up." Maleek whispers. Roxas can't bring himself to look him in the face. It is over.

Tifa begins laughing, and Roxas feels the reverberations of her steps as she walks around the ring. "Is _this_ all you have to offer?" she shouts triumphantly. Roxas trembles. The world is awash with fog and darkness and voices.

"_Get up_." Vanitas says again, louder. Roxas can only stares at the red speckled stone that marks the lift of the sidewalk.

Roxas whimpers, hating himself for it, and for the tears that begin sliding down his face, across the bridge of his nose and onto the floor. Blood leaks from his temples, staining his brown hair. It is all over.

"Roxas." Maleek says gently. And then Roxas hears the scraping noise as Maleek; hand come into view, sliding across the cobblestones. His fingertips stop just against Roxas' cheek.

"_Roxas_." Vanitas breathes, his voice laced with pain – and hope.

This is all Roxas has left – Maleek's outstretched hand, and the promise of hope, of something better waiting on the other side of that line. Moving his arm makes sparks dance before his eyes, but Roxas extends it until his fingertips reach the line of brick, and stay there, not a quarter of an inch from the two assassins, the simple line of dirt separating them.

Roxas lifts his eyes to Vanitas' face and finds his gaze lined with silver. "Get up." Is all he says.

And in that moment, somehow his face is the only thing that matters. Roxas stirs, and can't stop his sob as his body erupts with pain that makes him lie still again. But he keeps his focus on Vanitas' ember eyes, on his tightly pressed lips as they part and whisper. "Get up."

Roxas pulls his arm away from the line, bracing his palm against the frozen ground. He keeps Vanitas' gaze when he moves his other hand beneath his chest, and bites down on the scream of pain as Roxas pushes upwards, his shoulder nearly buckling. Roxas slides his good leg under him. As he makes to stand, he feels the thud of Tifa's steps, and Vanitas' eyes go wide.

The world spins black and mist and blue as Tifa grabs Roxas and shoves him against the clock tower once more, Roxas' face smashing into the stone. When Roxas opens his eyes, the world shifts. Blackness is everywhere. Deep down, Roxas knew it isn't just a hallucination – what he sees, who he sees, truly exists just beyond the veil of his world, and the poisonous drug has somehow opened his mind to see them.

There are two creatures now, and the second on has wings. It is grinning – grinning, just as –

Roxas doesn't have time to shout as it launches into flight. It throws him to the ground, its claws rip at him. Roxas thrashes. Where has the world gone? Where is he?

There are more of them – more appear. The dead, demons, monsters – they wanted him. They called his name. Most of them have wings, and the ones that don't are carried in the talons of others.

They strike as they pass, their claws slicing his flesh. They are going to bring him inside their realm, and the tower is the gaping portal. He will be devoured. Terror – terror like he's never known – takes over. Roxas covers his head as they sweep upon him, and he kicks blindly. Here has the world gone? How much poison could be possibly still have left inside of him? He is going to die. _Freedom or death_.

Defiance and rage mixes in his blood. He swings his arm, and it meets with a shadowy face with burning coals for eyes. The darkness ripples, and Tifa's gaping features appear. There is sun here – this is reality. How long does he have before another wave of the poison-induced visions take over?

Tifa reaches for Roxas' throat, and he fling himself backwards. All that he manages to grab is the sapphire stone from the remains of Luchel's sword. With a responding click, the gem is ripped from the sword.

The sunlight disappears, the hareraiser seizing control of his mind again, and Roxas finds himself before an army of the dead. The shadowy figure that is his mother raises her arm, dropping the stone upon the ground.

They come for him.


	41. Chapter 40

Maleek watches in wide-eyed terror as Roxas thrashes on the ground, waving away things they can't see. What is happening? The poison must've done something.

Roxas screams. It is the most horrible noise he's ever heard. "We have to stop it, now." He says to Vanitas as the young man rises from his spot near the ring. But Vanitas only gapes at the flailing assassin, his face pale as death.

Roxas kicks and punches at nothing as his mother squats over him and hits him in the mouth. Blood flows freely. It won't stop until someone intervenes, or Tifa is killed. They keep reminding themselves of Roxas' power, of the fire that had in devoured nearly a third of the city. Hoping that Roxas will give her the same thrashing. They hope with all their hearts, praying to the gods.

Roxas crawls away from Tifa, his blood and saliva pooling onto the ground.

Casting a glance at Vanitas, Maleek takes a deep breath. Then to Vanitas' surprise, Maleek says something in a language that he hasn't heard of, at least not around the continent, and walks towards the edge of the sidewalk, still keeping inches from Roxas. Tucked close to the folds of his cloak, nearly concealed there, his fingers are rapidly moving – tracing symbols in the air.

Tifa stalks to where Roxas pants, his face white and red. He eases himself into a kneeling position and stares without seeing at the road, at everyone, at something beyond them, perhaps.

He is waiting for her. Waiting for her to –

_Kill him_.

Kneeling on the ground, Roxas gasps for breath, unable to find his way out of the hallucination and back into reality. Here, the dead surround him, waiting. The shadow-thing that is his mother stands nearby, watching, her burning eyes her only distinguishing feature. Darkness ripples around Tifa like shreds of clothing in the wind.

He will die soon.

_Light and darkness. Life and death. Where do I fit in_?

The thought sends a jolt through him so strong that his hands fumble for anything to use against her. Not like this. He'll find a way – he can find a way to survive. _I will not be afraid_. He's whispered that every morning since he had fled his town; but what good are those words now?

A demon comes at him, and a scream – not of terror or of despair, but rather a plea – bursts from Roxas' throat. A call for help.

The demon flaps back, ass if his scream had startled it. The dark creature that has replaced his mother motions it forward again.

But them something extraordinary happens.

Doors, doors, doors all burst open. Doors of wood, doors of iron, doors of air and magic.

And from another world, Lilian sweeps down, cloaked in golden light. The ancient queen's hair glints like a shooting star as she plummets into Kingdom Hearts.

Tifa chuckles as she steps towards the panting assassin and raises her sword, aiming at the assassin's chest.

Lilian explodes through the ranks of the dead, scattering them.

Tifa's sword comes down.

A gust of wind slams into Tifa so hard he is sent sprawling to the ground, her sword flying across the street. But, locked in that dark, horrible world, Roxas only sees the ancient queen barrel into Tifa, knocking her down, before the dead charged. Yet they are too late.

Golden light erupts around her, shielding her from them, making the dead step back.

Wind mightier than anything the onlookers have witnessed still roars through the streets of Twilight Town. They shield their faces as the wind howls.

The demons bellow and surge again. But a sword rings and a demon falls. Black blood drips from the blade, and the lips of Queen Lilian are set in a feral snarl as she lifts her sword. It is a challenge; a dare to them to try and pass, to tempt her rage.

Through fading eyes, Roxas sees a crown of stars glittering atop Lilian's head, her silver armor shining like a beacon in the blackness. The demons shriek, and Lilian stretches out a hand, golden light bursting from her palm, forming a wall between them and the dead as she rushes to Roxas' side and cups his face in her hands.

"I cannot protect you." whispers the queen, her skin glowing. Her face is different, too – sharper, more beautiful. Her Elven heritage. "I cannot give you my strength." She traces her fingers across Roxas' brow. "But I can remove this poison from your body."

Beyond them, Tifa struggles to her feet. Wind slams into her from all direction, keeping her trapped in place.

From the far end of the street, a gust of wind sends the head of the sword of Luchel rolling in Roxas' direction. It clatters to a stop, still a few tantalizing feet away.

Lilian puts a hand on Roxas' forehead. "Take it." says the Queen. Roxas trains to reach for the remnant of the sword, his vision flashing between the overcast of the street and the endless dark. His shoulder shifts slightly, and he stifles a scream of pain. At last, he feels the smooth sharpened steel – but also the pain from his aching fingers.

"Once the poison is gone, you will not see me. You will not see the demons." says the queen, sketching marks on Roxas' brow.

Tifa looks to Roxas as she retrieves her sword. She draws a dagger. Roxas glares at her, and pain bolts through him like lightening as he feels his skin stretch. He clamps his mouth tight. He looks over to his right and finds Maleek his fingers tracing the air wildly beneath his cloak. Roxas knew what he was doing, and forces himself back into his mortal form.

Lilian holds Roxas' face in his hands. "Don't be afraid." Beyond the golden wall of light, the dead shriek and moan Roxas' name. But then Tifa, - bearing the shadowy, dark thing that dwells inside of her – steps through the wall as if is nothing, shattering it completely.

"Petty tricks, my son." Tifa says to Roxas. "Just petty tricks." This thing is not his mother, he knows it, she is advancing towards him in reality, but this thing is covering her up.

Lilian is on her feet in an instant, blocking Tifa's path to Roxas. Shadows ripple along the edges of her form, and her ember-like eyes flare. This . . . creature, its attention is on Roxas as she says, "You were all brought here – all of you. All the players of an unfinished game. My friends," he gestures to the dead. "have told me so."

"Be gone." Lilian barks, forming a symbol with her fingers. A bright blue light bursts from her hands.

Tifa, or the creature, howls as it bites into her, the light slashing her shadow-body into ribbons. Then it is gone, leaving the swirling crowd of the dead and damned, and Lilian still before them. They charge, but she blasts them back with that golden shield, panting through her gritted teeth. Lilian drops to her knees and grabs Roxas by the shoulders.

"The poison is almost gone." Lilian says. The world grows less dark; Roxas can see cracks of sunlight.

Roxas nods, pain replacing panic. He can feel the coldness of winter, feel his aching leg and the warm stickiness of his own blood all over his body. Why is Lilian here, and how is Maleek doing what he's doing?

"Take this." she says. Roxas looks as the broken bits of the sword of Luchel rattles before levitating and connecting back together; the metal ticking and clicking together in place by a seal of bright yellow-white light. But something else happens.

The sapphire stone comes rolling back and hops back into the middle of the guard of the sword and glows bright. Roxas shuts his eyes until the light dies down and turns, gasping with astonishment. The shaft displays two hearts, and its handle bears two angel wings. A keychain token is a star sewn together from Thalassa Shells. The blade is an ombre of steel, blue, yellow and pale purple.

Roxas exhales in envy and breathes. This is no longer just the blade of the God of War, this is the blade of the Queen herself. The blade she had used in the battle against the Dark Lord Xehanort.

"Oathkeeper." He whispers.

"Take them." The sword gently falls to hover over Roxas' hand.

"Them?"

The queen cups her hands together, and a black smoke and violet sparks surround them. As she slowly spans her hands out, through the smoke, Roxas can see the shaft of another blade. The sword she summons is of darkness itself, stunningly beautiful, but Roxas is afraid and awestruck as the queen holds it out to him.

"Oblivion." She says.

This blade is black and has a longer reach. The hilt guard is comprised of two bat-like wings extending downward. The blade if of pure ebony. The keychain attached to this one is a black version of Sora's crown necklace. A chain-like carving runs up the length of the blade. The diamond in its hilt also resembles the diamond in the original logo of Hollow Bastion. Reaching out his other hand, Roxas takes the black blade.

"Stand." Lilian says. The queen is becoming translucent. Her hands drift from Roxas' cheeks, and a white light fills the sky. The poison left Roxas' body.

Tifa once again a woman of flesh and blood, walks over to the sprawled assassin.

Roxas forces himself back into his mortal form, still not wanting her anywhere near him in his Elven form. Pain, pain, pain. Pain from his leg, from his head, from his shoulder and arm and ribs . . .

"_Stand_." Lilian whispers again, and if gone. The world appears.

Tifa is close, not a trace of shadow around her. Roxas lifts the two swords that are undoubtedly solid in his hands. His gaze clears.

And so, struggling and shaking, Roxas stands.

His right leg can barely support him, but he grits his teeth and rises. He squares his shoulders as Tifa halts.

The wind caresses his face and sweeps his hair behind him in a billowing sheet of brown. _I will not be afraid_. A mark burns on his forehead in blinding blue light.

"What's that on your face?" Tifa gasps.

With his aching, almost useless arm, Roxas wipes the blood form his mouth. Tifa growls as she swings her sword, making to behead him.

Roxas shoots forward, as fast as an arrow.

Tifa's eyes go wide as Roxas' buries the blade of Oathkeeper in her right side, exactly where she is unguarded.

Blood pours onto Roxas' hands as he yanks it out, and Tifa staggers back, clutching her ribs.

He forgets pain, forgets fear, forgets the tyrant who stares at the burning mark on his head with dark eyes. He leaps back a step and slices open Tifa's arm with the blade of Oblivion, ripping through muscle and sinew. She swats at Roxas with her other arm, but Roxas moves aside, cutting the limb as well.

Tifa lunges, but Roxas dashes away. Tifa sprawls upon the ground. Roxas slams his foot into her back, and as Tifa lifts her head, she finds the blade of Oathkeeper pressed against her neck.

Roxas stares at him with a fire in his eyes. "You know I came here hoping to escape from the tyranny of my father and the Guild. Hoping to find a small trace of the family that I had lost. Hoping you'd still be the woman who would tuck her son in at night."

Roxas presses the tips against her throat.

"But I can see now, you never were that woman. And I never had a family." He growls. His eyes start to glow, matching the mark on his forehead. The tickling begins on her throbbing arm, then slowly starts to become a hissing, and Tifa finds her hand on fire, the flame silver tipped with blue, and it snakes its way into the gauntlets of her armor.

It seeps into the crevices like water and spreads its way along her arm. She starts to thrash, but Roxas keeps her pinned like a stone.

"I, am a pure weapon now." The fire reaches the cuirass and spreads along the breastplate and to the other arm. Tifa thrashes more. "You're not even worthy of this armor!"

Tifa screams as her enchanted armor shatters into pieces, scattering along the streets, leaving her in nothing but a purple, sweat-stained tunic and black pants.

"I am not your son, I never was." Roxas finalizes.

"Go ahead, kill me then. That's what you're programmed to do, after all." Tifa snarls.

Roxas' hands trembles with the effort to keep from driving the blade of Oblivion into her neck, but Roxas lifts his bruised face to the sky. "No, I won't kill you." the assassin says. "But between one destitute and another, I knew a few people who would. But I am not going to pleasure you by having you watch me become the monster you wanted. Your fate seems more worthy of my father's decision."

Roxas lifts his foot from Tifa's back and limps away from his mother. She doesn't pursuit. The world spins beneath him.

He won. He won. He is free – or as close to it as he can come. He will flee the continent, he and Axel will heal, they will get better.

It comes crashing down upon him, and Roxas forces himself to sheath the bloody swords to his waist. His breathing is hard and ragged. He's been saved. Lilian saved him. And he has . . . he has won.

Maleek is exactly where he was standing before, similng faintly, only –

The Faceless assassin drops to his knees, his breathing just as heavy. Roxas makes a move to his friend, but his legs give out and he falls to the stone. Vanitas, as if released form a spell, dashes for Roxas, throwing himself to his knees beside Roxas, murmuring his name again and again.

But Roxas barely hears him. Huddled on the ground, how tears slide down Roxas' face. He's won. Through the pain, Roxas begins laughing.

As the assassin laughs quietly to himself, head bowed to the ground, Vanitas surveys Roxas' body. The cut along his thigh won't stop bleeding, his arm hangs limp, and his face and arms are a patchwork of cuts and rapidly forming bruises. Tifa, her features set with fury, stands not too far behind, blood seeping through her fingers as she clutches her side. Let her suffer.

"He needs a healer," Vanitas says to Maleek as he saunters over. "We can get him to Zexion on the ship, and maybe I can say some things to hold him over." He should have stopped it when Tifa first hit Roxas. He should've done something other than watch when Roxas had so clearly needed aid. Roxas would've helped him; Roxas wouldn't have hesitated. Maleek, even, helped him – he had done, something that had helped Roxas stand in the end.

Carefully putting his arms around Roxas, Vanitas glances towards the straight narrow path that leads to the docks. No doubt by now the King's men are cleaning up the carnage, and the men are all ready and boarded along the ship. In doing so, he misses Tifa as she draws her dagger.

But Maleek sees it. Tifa raises her dagger to strike Roxas in the back. Roxas goes utterly still, sensing it.

Without thinking, Maleek lunges, trusting his speed. Tifa parries his first two thrusts and counters the third.

"Maleek!" Roxas screams.

"Go! I've got this!" Maleek shouts. He blocks Tifa's next blow and spins kicking her a few feet away.

"Maleek!" Vanitas shouts.

"Go, you've got Roxas!"

"No!" Roxas cries. He starts to kick and thrash against Vanitas' arms.

Tifa comes up behind him, but Maleek spins and strikes her with a roundhouse kick. When Maleek spins about trying to get closer, Tifa opens the palm of her burning hand. Fire explodes as if from the mouth of a dragon. The fire swarms over Maleek's cloak, setting it aflame.

Maleek wastes no time, jumping backwards and slicing off his cloak where it attaches to the clasps atop his shoulders.

"Go!" Maleek screams.

But Tifa didn't give chase as Maleek expected. Instead she stabs her sword into the flame, turns it once, and then swings. A massive arc of fire lashes outward, catching Maleek across his chest. All about, buildings and lamps burn as the fire consumes them with frightening speed.

Vanitas looks to the warrior, perhaps for the last time, and says what he has always known, from the moment they'd met, when he understood that Maleek was his brother in soul. "I love you."

Maleek merely nods, eyes still blazing. Brother. Friend. Warrior.

Vanitas holds Roxas, who has stopped his resistance, tightly in his arms and flees.

Faring little better, Maleek drops to a roll. The dirt does little to stop the burning. Tifa rushes after, and when Maleek rolls underneath a pretty carriage of blue and gold, Tifa punches it with her fist. The fire leaves her arm and sets the carriage aflame. An upward swipe of her sword cuts the rest of it in half. Maleek is underneath, gasping for air and clutching his horribly burned chest. The wrappings are gone, revealing blistered skin blackened by the heat.

Roxas trembles so badly that his wounds leak further. "Vanitas we can't leave him! I should've killed her . . . We can't – we can't . . ." Roxas lets out a gasping breath. "_They_ saved me," Roxas says, burying his face in Vanitas' chest. "Vanitas, she took the poison out of me. She – she . . . Oh gods, I don't even know what happened."

Vanitas has no idea what Roxas is speaking about, but he holds tighter. He kisses Roxas' hair. The mark on Roxas' brow fades.

He continues his pursuit down the road, willing his legs to go as fast as they dare. He is done with blades and assassins. He loves Roxas, and no Guild, no gold, and no earthly fear will keep him from Roxas. No, if they tried to take Roxas from him, he'll rip the world apart with his bare hands.

And for some reason, that doesn't terrify him.

Tifa reaches down and lifts Maleek, grabbing him by the neck and crushing his throat. Tifa let her full power roll forth.

Roxas and Maleek both go rigid.

His beautiful face is locked in a grimace of pain. Blood spills over his hand and the color drains from his face. Ash billows from his nostrils and open mouth. Maleek's entire weight hangs from the fierce grip of Tifa's hand.

"Insurgence . . . must . . . end!" screams Tifa.

She slams Maleek headfirst to the dirt. The world stills, even as Vanitas' feet pound the earth in a steady rhythm.

Roxas claps his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming for Maleek.

As Maleek gags, trying to force air through his charred throat, the Dark Mistress picks up her sword.

Maleek and Roxas' eyes meet like the distance between them are nothing.

And smiles.

Roxas' eyes burn and he is too weak to resist; the scent of sweat and blood makes him feel sick. He wants to rest his head on the ground and let that be the end of it. He wants to sleep now and never wake up.

But Maleek didn't go to all that trouble for nothing.

Roxas turns watches as Tifa presses the sword to Maleek's throat, then traces it down to his chest. He clenches his teeth and seethes from the pain. Her sword held in both hands, the tip touches his chest.

Maleek laughs even though the movement obviously pains him.

"You'll never see him again, you whore."

Roxas watches as Tifa aims the tip at Maleek's head.

He turns and shuts his eyes. Tears stream freely and Roxas doesn't hold back the inhuman scream that erupts from his lips. In the wailing is the pain, as images of many death collies with Maleek's. Another soul added to his list.

As he keeps running, all he hears is Maleek's blood-curdling scream. It nauseates Roxas to the core.

Roxas curls into Vanitas' chest, burying his face into the fabric and doesn't come out.

Vanitas manages to make it all the way to the docks, which are still running and bustling even as he thinks back to the carnage and the dead bodies littering the lower parts of the city.

Surrounded by the three Guild Masters – Terra, Cid and Leon – with their hoods down and weapons sheathed but bloodstained, is Cloud. His bloodied wounds healed, but bruises scatter along his jaw and neck. He stands with his arms crossed, gazing at the ship as if he owns the docks. His golden spikes flow gently around his head in a wind that kisses his cheeks.

His mouth drops open in shock at the sight of Roxas and Vanitas before him. Roxas is curled into Vanitas' arms like a caterpillar in a cocoon, covered with dirt and, blood. Shock punches little frissons of panic through Cloud. Roxas' skin is pale and smudged with blood and what looks like ash. His cloak is torn and battered, small splatters of blood ruining the cloak even more. And his _hands_. His hands are covered in dirt and dried blood, and he clutches these two swords as if they'll evaporate if he dares let go.

Vanitas had half the mind to pull Roxas' hood up over his head. Cloud feels his stomach lurch as Vanitas carefully lowers his son to stand. Cloud carefully approaches Roxas, his face obscured by shadows and not moving. He feels his heart thunder as he beholds the weapons strapped to Roxas' waist.

The swords of ancient kings. Oathkeeper and Oblivion.

"Roxas." Cloud croons. Roxas' empty eyes look to Cloud, and he extends out a bloody hand, hovering it over Cloud's cheek as if afraid to touch him, to see if he's real.

Cloud carefully places his hands on Roxas' shoulders, causing the younger boy to jolt and flinch. Still he settles into Cloud's hands, his eyes vacant and seeing far beyond.

"Roxas . . ." Cloud's voice shakes. "What happened –?" he gently asks. Cloud lifts his head to Vanitas, who has tears in his eyes.

"Maleek." Cloud whispers to Roxas.

Roxas huddles into himself, not wanting to hear the name. If he hears his father say it, it'll become the truth. And the truth for him right now is too horrible to touch. He should speak, give voice to Maleek's sacrifice and valor. But he just can't seem to speak.

When Roxas opens his mouth to speak, he bursts into tears and collapses into Cloud's arms.

Cloud holds his son close, petting the boy's brunette head. He kisses the assassin's head, ignoring the smell of blood that has seeped into his scalp. He looks to Vanitas who is even having a difficulty keeping his sobs compressed.

Cloud holds his son tight. Holds him the way he should've all those years growing; how he should've held Roxas the moment he had seen how terrified he was of his own power. He thinks back to the silver fire that had exploded all throughout the lower marketplace. Roxas' power had consumed every building within a three mile radius. And it's as if his natural scent, something of a mixture of lavender and dew drops, is completely smothered by the odor of blood and ash and sweat.

Cloud can't imagine the fear that quakes through Roxas body; can't comprehend the burden Roxas must feel . . . or the dread, or the pain, or the loss.

He can't understand anything. But he try. So he holds his son, as tight as he can, keeping his lips pressed to Roxas' head. He pets the assassin's head, stroking the hair and resting his cheek against the brown of Roxas' hair. Roxas nuzzles into the crook of Cloud's neck, feeling as if he can burrow deep inside his father's warmth and never have to face the world again.

The scent of salty-sea wafts over Roxas' nose. He chokes. He will be boarding that ship soon. A ship that has his men, and his lover. Axel . . . Zexion said he'll be okay, but . . .

Cruel irony: Axel, a man who had missed sailing along the oceans, missed feeling the breeze kiss his face, he is back on the sea, but he can't even be blessed to experience it. Roxas buries deeper into his father's chest, gripping the clothing of his father until his knuckles are white.

Cloud rubs his hand in circles on Roxas' back, the other securing Roxas' head and petting his hair. Despite how much Cloud want to keep holding his son, take him home and let him rest his precious little head, Maleek's sacrifice will only hold Tifa off for a short while. But with nearly her entire army of Faceless Assassins dead, and the guards already counting out the number of casualties, she might just vanish off back into the towns. They have a small opportunity together.

A part of him hurts for pulling away from his son as he still hysterically sobs and cries away all of pain and agony he has been holding in for the last year, or perhaps even all of his life. But Cloud just knows that this'll be much more important for him.

"Roxas, if you want to, I'd like to show you something." Cloud says as he keeps a hand on Roxas' cheeks and one hand on his shoulder.

Roxas gives a loud sob, to signal he might be upset that his father still won't let him express his emotions. But as expected they always have so little time. He looks to Cloud with hesitation and confusion. Roxas wipes his eyes and looks up to his father, his nose slightly dribbling.

He is so different compared to the boy he had raised all of his life. Cloud just wants to sit with the boy and let him cry for the hours he deserves.

Roxas lift his head, his hood still concealing his head, as he turns to Vanitas. Vanitas wipes his eyes with his thumb and sighs. "We'll leave whenever you're ready. The captain won't mind at all."

With a confused look, Roxas is about to ask Vanitas until footsteps clock across the wooden plank and down to the dock. Flicking his eyes to the origin of the footsteps, he slightly gasps as he sees disheveled blond hair with spiky layers and aquamarine eyes. A part of him chuckles manically while he heaves from shock.

"Tidus."

The exquisite face looking to him breaks into a smile. "Hello, Roxas." The young man bows low and then peeks up through his eyelashes.

He wears yellow and black shoes, a gauntlet on his left hand and a black glove on the other, a yellow jacket with a white hood, and a blue pauldron and armor over his left arm. The dark dungaree-type outfit he wears over his other clothes is fastened with a black belt that has a metal chain.

"Are you really . . .?"

"Yes. We'll leave when you're ready." Tidus gently coos. Something in his voice just speaks that he knows everything that has happened and Roxas almost hate him for it. "Guess it's a good thing you _didn't_ hunt me down after all." He nervously chuckles, but he rubs his neck and his cheeks turn red as Vanitas and Cloud give him dirty looks.

Cloud wipes away a tear with the knuckle of his fingers. "I need to show you something. Do you want to come with?"

Roxas sniffs. He doesn't want to walk anymore. He doesn't want to do anything but lie down and sleep. He is tired. So, so tired.

He merely nods and accepts his father's hand as he feels it intertwine with his. Cloud pulls his hood up over his head and guides Roxas away from the docks. They pass through the uncharred part of town, where some citizens are still huddled with one another, guards handing out water and bowls of simple soup.

Roxas keeps his eyes to the ground, vacant. Empty. Tired. He lets his father guide him through the street, then down a familiar alleyway he would take nearly every day on nightly patrols.

They slips through a large crack in the city walls, located behind and abandoned warehouse, and wander into the woods. Roxas doesn't even lift his head in the slightest as he watches his feet traverse from stone to dirt and to grass. When the sounds of the city are wisps, Roxas hears his father speak. "This is where I would take you to train." Roxas slowly lift shis head and angles it towards his father. Cloud stars simply ahead, and Roxas can see the memory play through his mind as his eyes grow lighter. "Where we would always fish. Where we would hunt. Where we had our first fight."

Roxas looks all around and easily locates the trees that he would train with his daggers and swords until his hands bleed. Roxas look to him with pleading eyes.

"You were a persistent little boy. Always had to be perfect at everything." He gives a sad smile, and Roxas turns away. His gaze shifts to stare at the glass-like surface of the water of a large lake. Roxas remembers. Cloud had Roxas carry two empty buckets bare handed and run at a full sprint all the way to lake from the other side of town.

For the first time, Cloud steers them to a secret path Roxas has never noticed. He didn't even know it existed. Cloud guides them down at the edge of a clearing. Or once was a clearing. Now, nothing remains but a pile of scorched debris and a large soot circle. It's been like this forever. Roxas has learned from past experience how to identify fresh and old burns.

He look around. Wondering why of all places his father would bring him here. They're still in the shelter of the trees, and Roxas rotates in a circle; gazing at the streams of sunlight that leak through he canopy of leaves like golden darts piercing the green. Roxas skids across moss as he reaches an oak tree, and grab onto the trunk for balance.

Cloud walks ahead of Roxas, taking the trek with ease. He stops a couple feet in front of Roxas and turns to face him. For a moment, Roxas fears Cloud simply dragged him out here to kill him. But what's even more disturbing, Roxas isn't afraid.

"Lexaeus told me of the path. I was mad at first, but . . . I decided to leave it." Cloud says. Roxas feels his throat close. He doesn't know what possessed him to move, but Roxas leaves the shelter of the trees with his father; and walks towards the debris on shaking legs.

The soil beneath him turns to ash. Cold black flakes that cling to his boot as if trying to hold him back. Cloud simply watches from the shadows of the trees. Roxas' boots grind the sooty embers beneath him to dust as he crosses the scorched ground. He follow an invisible path that his father can somehow see. He occasionally looks back to see if Roxas is still following.

The foundation of trees is still there. Buried beneath the ash, a jumbled mound of scorched grass he has to climb up and over. Roxas' feet skid as he reaches the top, sending him sliding down the other side. Clouds of ash billow up around him, but Roxas doesn't block his nose of mouth. When he reaches the bottom, he looks up at Cloud, but stops when he catches the sight of something else.

Just beyond the edge of the destruction, where the ash bleeds gently into the soil again, a soft swell in the ground is marked by a small wooden cross painted white. The last snow of winter has melted, leaving the world barren and brown, waiting for spring.

Roxas can't breathe. His ears roar, and Cloud says something, but Roxas can't understand the words because he's walking toward the grave. Cloud steps to the side of the grave, and holds out his hand to Roxas. The young assassin holds onto it without thinking, but he can't feel him.

Roxas can't even feel himself, and he doesn't want to. Let this be some other boy standing here, holding his father's hand while the rest of this world comes crumbling down.

_Please_.

Roxas moves his hand away. The cross is beautifully carved and someone has painted the word _Ventus_ in the center. They forget to add Beloved Friend at the end.

Grief is a yawning pit of darkness blooming at Roxas' core. He can hardly stand beneath its weight. The sharp edges of Maleek's and Lexaeus' and Demyx death . . . they all collide with the unthinkable sight before him, and something inside Roxas shatters as he falls to my knees on the damp ground and bowed his head before the grave.

_I can't bear this. I can't._

The hope that flickered within him floats like ash into the darkness.

_He's here, but not here._

Roxas wants to die too. Just stop breathing and hope he finds him on the other side.

_He's not here_.

Roxas sinks down and presses his forehead on top of the dirt.

_He is nowhere_.

Roxas is bleeding inside where no one will see. Where no one will ever know to look.

He's gone.

He's _gone_.

Cloud's voice float above him as Roxas' kneels on the cold unyielding ground. He imagines sinking below it. Letting it take him under.

Finding peace.

The piercing pain of loss is a double-edged blade he can't bear to touch. How can he grieve for Ventus? Cry for Ventus? Bleed for Ventus inside when it won't change anything?

It won't change anything.

_He's gone_.

Roxas digs his fingers into the grave and flinches as the images of Lexaeus and Ventus and Demyx and Maleek . . . the list goes on and on. So many people, so many lives. They sear themselves into Roxas' brain. He will choke on the grief. Lie here impotent, unable to avenge them. Loss is a gaping hole with jagged teeth, and Roxas can't _bear_ it. His fingers clench into fists, his nails breaking as he shoves them through the hard-packed dirt.

"Lexaeus did a wonderful job. Completed and entire service with some of the other members." Cloud says.

It's true. The grave is somehow beautiful in a heavenly kind of way. The cross is innocently white with necklaces of flowers – some being there long enough to start wilting – decorate across the cross and its then Roxas realizes that a net of flowers has been draped over the mound of dirt. His heart clenches when he realizes that they are Ventus' favorite flowers. Daisies and Petunias.

Turning his head to rest his cheek on the cold dirt, Roxas takes the petal of a beautifully blue petunia and rubs it between his thumb and index finger. He half expects the flower to erupts in a flame and burn into ashes.

But no, the flower remains, and Roxas could swear that the leaves and small vines coil around his fingers, embracing his callus and bloodstained fingers. He finds it _so hard_ to believe that the body of such a beautiful boy, lies beneath him. That the soul of what was his light in the suffocating darkness, has now traveled off into a better world rid of complete evil. Tears stream from Roxas' eyes and across the bridge of his nose, sucked into the dirt.

"I knew you deserved to see it." Cloud says. "And I'm not one to dishonor the dead."

_Thank you_. Roxas thinks he said it out loud, but his lips only part and he whimpers.

Then Roxas says the words that he's wanted to say to Ventus days ago. The words that he should have said from the beginning. Words that won't change, no matter what he learned about Ventus' death.

"I want you to know," he whispers to the wind, to the earth, to the body far beneath him, "that you were my light too. You deserved so much better; and yet you decided to befriend me, of all people. I might've failed you, but I won't fail anyone else."

Roxas bows deeper, putting his forehead against the dirt.

"And I promise," Roxas breathes into the soil. "I promise that I will stop. I will never forgive, never forget what I did to you. I promise that my time ends now. And I promise that I will never again raise my blade for darkness. I wish to abandon the shadows."

He raises himself, drawing a dagger from his pocket, and slices a line across his left palm. Blood wells, ruby-bright against the golden dawn, sliding down the side of his hand before he presses his palm to the earth.

"I promise." Roxas whispers again. "On my name, on my life, even it if takes until my dying breath, I promise that I restore the peace that I have torn in the rift of our kingdom."

He lets his blood soak into the ground, willing it to carry the words of his oath to the Otherworld where Ventus is safe at last. From now on, there will be no other oaths but this, no other contracts, no other obligations. _Never forgive, never forget_.

And he doesn't know how he will do it, or how long it will take, but he will see it through.

Roxas gazes down at his hand still clutching fistfuls of grave dirt. He can't bear to let it go.

Cloud looks at Roxas' hands, a tiny frown creasing the skin between his eyes, and then digs into the front pocket of his pants. "Here." Stretching out his hand, he offers Roxas a small pouch.

Roxas takes it. The dirt slides into the pouch with a whisper of sound, and he pulls it closed. The strings are long enough to tie behind his neck. Roxas knots them securely and lets the final piece of Ventus rest over his heart.

"And I shall help you." Cloud softly speaks.

Roxas' head snaps to Cloud and his eyebrows narrow in bewilderment. "What . . . ?"

"I wish to help you, Roxas. With your promise." Cloud stands over his son with his arms folded, and a look of hurt across his handsome features. "The Guild Masters and I are partnering with the King to help, cleanse, our city. Those who oppose to us, they will be driven from the city, and the Masters and I will be teaching our techniques and such to some of the members of the guard. But to do that –"

"– you'll have to stay here." Roxas' finishes, but his voice is distant and hollow. He barely recognizes it himself. His voice hitches at the end and his exhale quivers. Cloud nods and Roxas is on his feet, but his knees buckle and Cloud's hands grip his arms. "You can't leave me, I just got you back. I won't allow it."

"Roxas –"

"You can't!" Roxas screams. His cheeks are red and he grips the front of his father's tunic. "I mean I know this is for the better, and I am proud of you, believe me I am! But – But I just you back, I don't want to leave you!"

Cloud takes the sobbing boys head and kisses his brow, his own breath shuddering as his eyes water. He holds the boy in a tight embrace. "I love you, more than anything. You are my entire world. I know that I will think about you every day that you are gone. And I know that every night when I fall asleep, I will lie awake missing you so much it will _ache_."

Roxas sniffles and sighs as Cloud holds his face and stares right into the young assassin's eyes. "But you _have_ to _get out_ of this continent. Just look at what it's doing to you. You can't afford to stay here. Your mother may be down but she is not out. She will hunt all over the continent for your power. You _must go_."

The blue of Roxas' eyes deepen to a calming sapphire, but the gold ring around his pupil shines with that fire. That determination, that drive.

"You are strong, my son. You must carry that strength to Ivalice, and settle in with Axel's family. It will be better for you. I promise."

The assassin lowers his head, bobbing it slightly to mimic a nod.

"There are other Elves in Ivalice." Cloud then says. Roxas goes rigid. "Their King is fully Elven as well. Perhaps there are others who can teach you how to control it."

Roxas doesn't want to control it. He might've _accepted_ his Elven heritage, but learning to control it and use and _wanting_ to, are completely different. Roxas doesn't want to unleash that . . . belligerent monster again. That power he held, he couldn't control it. It was too great, too overwhelming for even him. He imagines locking the rogue away with thick, and impenetrable iron chains. Never wanting to set it free, then he locks in a dark iron cage, void of sunlight.

But then again, there was that, power. Not his power, but an outside source. And then there was the voices that he knew he heard while he was singing his anthem of the angels for Demyx.

Perhaps . . . it had to have come from Ivalice. Maybe they could help him. And now that he has forsaken his linage as a legendary assassin, it's possible he can put forth his efforts into finding out who it was that had helped him. Maybe . . .

Taking a deep breath, Roxas' body moves like it always has. His feet follow one after the other. His nostrils capture the scent of wood, smoke and fresh flowers, and his ears note the creaking of branches and the crunch of ash-coated debris beneath him.

But it's all meaningless. Roxas is a stranger beneath his skin. He wears armor on the inside, a metal forged of fury and silence, cutting him off from himself.

He takes the small pouch and holds it in his hand.

He has nothing left to give, but he will fight until the end.

Because it is time.


	42. Chapter 41

The docks are crowded with sailors and slaves and workers loading and unloading cargo. The day is near six in the morning, and it's warm and breezy, the first hint of spring in the air, and the sky is cloudless. A good day for sailing.

Roxas adjusts the strap of his large leather satchel stuffed with books. On their way back to the docks, they stopped at a high class brothel where Roxas scrubbed himself pink trying to wash the blood out of his hair and off of his skin. He is now wearing a heavy tunic and pants and a thick cloak. His brown boots are sturdy and sensible, far more subdue than his usual attire. Traveling clothes. His left hand is bandaged now, and he shifts his fingers, wincing at the dull pain radiating outwards from his palm.

He stands before the ship that will carry him through the first leg of the journey. It will sail to a prearranged location where they will dock for supplies from Ivalice and then travel by themselves, negating other passengers. Most of the men that are traveling with him are already below deck. With all the Guild Masters now staying in Twilight Town to aid his father in banishing the rogue assassins out of the city, so few men come and travel with him: Zack, Luxord, Xigbar, Sora, Axel, Vanitas, Zexion, and Riku.

Roxas was surprised to see the silver-haired assassin walking up to Roxas and Cloud, only to smile and state to Roxas that he needs him. Too drained to argue or even come up with a comeback, Roxas simply nods and forces an appreciative smile; and Cloud has a feeling that any greater sign of emotion will shatter his self-control.

Artemis stands at the opposite end of the bridge with her tail wagging. She's free to wander the decks and with no other passengers on the ship, none will care she's not on a leash. Though Vanitas informed Roxas that he had fed Artemis a tranquilizer to have her sleep for most of the journey. Wouldn't want anyone to complain about dog vomit on the deck.

The dog walks up to Cloud tail wagging, and Cloud kneels down extending out a hand. He runs his hands over Artemis's head, letting her lick him a few times.

"Who will be, leading the journey to find Axel's brother?" Cloud asks as he rises to stand.

Roxas' throat bobs, the only sign of emotion he allows to show, and he looks towards the dog, watching her as she trots all up and down the gangplank, on and off the ship. "Luxord and Xigbar seem to know the way. And no word on Kairi, Namine . . ."

Cloud shakes his head as Roxas drifts off. "No, I haven't seen them. I don't know if they survived of if they were part of the slaughter."

Tidus bellows a five-minute departure warning. The sailors start scrambling, doubling their efforts to prepare to leave the harbor and set out down the Avery, and then into the Great Ocean itself.

To Ivalice.

Roxas swallows hard. The two swords Oathkeeper and Oblivion are strapped securely to his waist, and they have already and are still gaining the attention of many citizens passing by. Queen Lilian hasn't told him anything else since their battle and she handed him the legendary blades. But Roxas knows that she wouldn't just give them to him for that one usage on one night.

A high-pitched whistle and Artemis's ear erect before she bolts up the plank and hops around Vanitas' legs and feet. He pets the dog's head as he looks to Roxas, smiling slightly. A salty breeze ruffles his hair, and Roxas steps forward.

"Roxas." Cloud says.

Roxas freezes as his father walks over to him, and doesn't move even when he finds himself looking up into his face.

"Do you understand why this is better?" he asks softly.

Roxas nods, but says, "I need to return here."

"_No_," Cloud says, his eyes flashing. "You –"

"_Listen_."

Roxas has five minutes. Cloud already knows so much – but he doesn't know about Queen Lilian and what it is she had told Roxas. What she had said that night she had appeared in his room, and after giving him what _was_ the sword of Farengar, now Oathkeeper strapped to his waist. The knowledge could be fatal to him, but can't leave him wholly ignorant. Because if something happened to him . . .

"Listen carefully to what I am about to tell you."

Cloud's brows rise. But Roxas doesn't give himself a moment to reconsider, to second-guess his decision.

As succinctly as he can, Roxas tells Cloud about Queen Lilian. He tells him about how she had appeared in his room that bright, and how she had enchanted the sword of the God of War. He tells Cloud about how she had saved him from the poison of the hareraiser, but of what he had seen of what he had experienced. And then he tells him about how he had received the ancient swords. And that he should never open portals to another worlds – _never_. And then he tells Cloud of what she had told Roxas the night he had received the sword, and what she had said to him.

And when the truth is out, Cloud is shaking his head, his face deathly pale. "Roxas, I don't think you –"

"_Listen_," Roxas repeats. "You had said that something was coming, and that you were to greet it . . ."

Two minutes, Tidus shouts. Cloud is staring at Roxas, such grief and fear in his eyes that speech fails Roxas. He merely shakes his head.

And then Cloud does the most reckless thing he's ever done in his life. He leans down to Roxas and whispers the words into his ear.

The words that will make Roxas understand, understand why he is so important to him and why is it crucial that he travels to Ivalice. And Roxas will hate Cloud forever for it, once he understands.

"What do you mean?" Roxas demands.

Cloud smiles sadly. "You'll figure it out. And when you do . . ." Cloud shakes his head, knowing he shouldn't say it, but doing it anyway. "When you do, I want you to know that I'm sorry; and that it wouldn't have made a difference to me. It's never made any difference to me when it comes to you. I'd still pick you. I'll always pick you."

"Please – please jut tell me what is means."

But there is no time, so Cloud shakes his head and kisses his son on his forehead. "I love you." Roxas strangles the sob that builds in his throat. "I'm sorry." Cloud says, hoping Roxas will remember these words later – later, when he knows everything. "Go." He says patting Roxas' shoulder.

The ship's horn blares through the air. Roxas' legs find the strength to move. He takes a breath. And with a final look at his father, he strode up the gangplank. Taking no notice of those onboard, he sets down his sack and takes up a place by the railing.

Zexion immediately approaches him, and Roxas swallows. He looks concerned and a little dejected even. "Axel's down in the infirmary. His body is clean, and his wound is patched up."

Relief fills Roxas, but it doesn't ease him as he sees the concern on Zexion's face. So Roxas asks. "How is he?"

"Her dagger missed his heart, but he still got badly hurt. His body isn't as used to battle as ours, so it will need time to recover." Zexion sadly says.

"How long?" Zexion casts his gaze downward and sighs. "_How long_?" Roxas repeats.

"Honestly, I don't know Roxas. I just don't know."

A strangled sort of noise breaks out of him, and Roxas snorts that turns into a cough as he covers his mouth with a fisted hand. He doesn't dare show his tears; not while his father was just a gangplank away from him, and a crowd of onlookers waving happily to their loved ones as they depart, all sharing tears of joy.

"Thank you." is all Roxas says, and Zexion's footsteps clock along the wooden deck, fading into silence.

Roxas looks down at the docks to find Cloud still standing by the walkway as it is lifted.

Tidus calls for them to cast off. Sailors scurry, ropes are untied, tossed, and tied again, and the ship lurches. Roxas' hands clasp the railing so hard they hurt.

The ship begins moving. And cloud – the man Roxas had hated and loved so much that he can hardly think around him – just stands there, watching him go.

The current grabs the ship, and the city begins to diminish. The ocean breeze soon caresses Roxas' neck, but he never stops staring at his father. And that's when he sees the tears fall down Cloud's face.

At a last second attempt, Roxas closes his eyes and wills his powers to reach his father. He cheeks grow warm with his own tears. And as if blessed by the gods, a spirited breeze suddenly whirls up, throwing Roxas' cape into a rippling wave of black, and Roxas can see the petals get plucked off of the flowers of a magnolia tree. They dance their way across the distance between them all the way back to the docks.

Cloud tilts his head upwards, feeling the breeze kiss his cheeks, the smell of their fragrance, of the ocean, of _Roxas_, infects his nose. He smiles and opens his eyes, his son still staring at him. Cloud then brings the fingertips of his right hand to his lips, and holds his hand up high, palm out.

Without hesitation, Roxas lifts his own hand into the air and fists his hand, then bringing it to his lips.

He stares towards his father until the King's castle is a sparkling speck in the distance. He stares at towards his father until there is only gleaming ocean around him. He stares towards his father until the sun drops beyond the horizon and a smattering of stars hangs overhead.

It is only when his eyelids drop and he sways on his feet that Roxas stops staring at Cloud.

The smell of salt fills the air, so different from the salt of the riverbeds and lakes of the forest back in his home, and a spirted wind whips through his hair.

Vanitas stares at the boy from his spot opposite of the deck. He is a sight to behold. Even with tears streaming down his cheeks, Roxas' eyes gleam with a familiar determination that Vanitas recognizes. His features are hard, sharp; and his hair billows in smooth waves in the wind that stirs along the ocean. His cloak of ebony flows behind him as he lifts his head to the stars. The gracious movement of the cloak sends chills down Vanitas' spine as he stares at the beautiful, but broken boy.

And he realizes, it is not a boy he sees. The boy who had always used his bloodied blade to ask and answer his questions, the boy who had ended countless lives with no remorse or regret, the boy who was the heir to darkness and thought to be forever bound to his lineage, the boy who lead an army of shadows, and would nearly die trying to dethrone the king he so fiercely loathed . . . that boy is gone.

And in his place, is a man. A warrior of astounding stature.

And he will serve that warrior; protect him until his dying breath.

Roxas traces the bandages on his hand, the oath to Ventus. No matter the odds, no matter how long it takes, not matter how far he had to go, he will fix what he had broken.

And he will not be afraid.

With an exhale through his nose, Roxas Skyes turns his back on Twilight Town and sails towards Ivalice.

**~End of Book Two~**


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